


To End All Wars

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Character Death, Drama, F/M, M/M, Musketeers AU, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post Great War, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 70,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers AU fic set at the end of the First World War. After months spent recuperating from shell shock, Major Athos Lafère returns to his manor house in Suffolk, finding it far from the peaceful haven he’s been longing for. Dealing with loss and inordinately uncomfortable around people, he's forced to confront his own feelings when he makes the acquaintance of the doctors, nurses and patients who have taken over his home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As far as every other passenger was concerned, the clatter and whistle of the steam train must have seemed mundane, but to Athos, who'd spent the past few months in a rehabilitation hospital by the sea, it was terrifying. The only thing disturbing the peace at Netley were the cries of the gulls and the screams of the soldiers as they dreamt of the trenches. Athos didn't sleep any longer. He'd learnt it was safest not to.

"Hello, Master Athos, good to have you back home," said a voice, that familiar local accent startling Athos out of his reverie. It had been years since he'd last heard it. "How are you, sir?"

"I'm well, thank you, Serge." Athos could see the station master's gaze wander over him, counting limbs and assessing his war wounds. He wouldn't find any damage. Nothing visible anyway. "Could you have my trunk sent up to the house?"

"I can indeed." Serge paused. "You'll find there've been some changes up there."

Athos sighed. "I expected nothing less." Slinging his greatcoat over his arm, he set off down the lane, the short burst of exercise causing his chest to tighten.

"Jacques can take you in the trap, sir," called Serge.

"Thank you again, but no. A stroll will do me good," said Athos, trying to suppress the cough. "Though I'd be grateful if you'd send a food parcel with him when he brings my things."

"That won't be necessary," said Serge, a comment which Athos found rather cryptic. 

He mulled it over on his walk to the Manor, coming to no obvious conclusion, but as soon he reached the top of the driveway the mud began to clear.

"Damn!" he muttered, seeing the grounds littered with ambulances and people in uniform, nursing and military alike.

His instinct was to turn tail and run. Self preservation was his priority; people were his least favourite thing, and now his own home had been infested with them. That, however, would be the coward's way and, at very least, the horrors of the trenches had proved he was not one of those. He would not put up with this invasion of his privacy.

Striding in through the open front doors, he looked about him in dismay. The Manor had been turned into a pint sized version of the Royal Victoria hospital at Netley: a place he'd been desperate to leave, the staff there having been obliging and pleasant, but of no use whatsoever.

"Hello there. Can I help you at all?"

Athos wheeled around, his nerves playing him up, those fight-flight reflexes on full alert.

The voice belonged to a good looking young man, wearing tatty battle dress with a doctor's white coat over the top of it.

"I'm Lieutenant Herblay, though everyone here calls me Aramis," he continued. "I'm afraid we're no longer taking patients, so if you're hoping to find a bed, you'll be unlucky. We're in the slow process of booting chaps out."

Athos was transfixed by soft brown eyes and a merry smile. It had been years since he'd seen such spirit in a person, but when the man stepped forward to greet him Athos skittered away.

Ashamed of his response, of everything about himself, Athos snapped: "Who's in charge here?"

"That would be Captain Treville, but he's-"

"I couldn't give a damn if he's having an audience with the king," barked Athos. "I'll see him immediately." He sounded so much like his father it was off putting to his ears.

Cocking his head to one side, Aramis gave Athos a cursory once over and this only added to his anger. He was tired of being examined as if he were nothing more than the contents of a petri dish.

"Now," he hissed, "or I'll throw every single one of you out of my house, regardless of whether there are other billets lined up."

"This way," said Aramis, leading him through his own home to the study which had once been his father's domain.

Knocking sharply on the door, Aramis waited for a brusque: "Enter," and then allowed Athos to proceed before him.

"The owner of the Manor has arrived and requests to see you immediately, sir," said Aramis, saluting with a flourish.

"Thank you, Aramis." The captain turned to Athos and thankfully refrained from doing a limb count, though he did check his pips and then offer him a salute.

Athos ignored it. He may be still be wearing uniform, but only because he hadn't received his civilian suit. The bloody war was over and his career as an officer with it.

"Athos Lafère," he said curtly. "I'd be most grateful if you and your people could leave my house promptly."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Major," said Treville, standing and leaning on his desk. "However, I'm afraid the situation isn't as simple as you appear to believe. The Manor has been requisitioned by the military for use as a hospital, and though we are in the process of marching out, it will be some months before we're in a position to fully vacate."

"N- n-" Athos' temper and his nerves conspired together and caused him to stammer. "Not good enough, Captain. Be out by the end of next week."

Treville glared at him, but it had little effect. Instead, Athos left the room, trying to still the tremble in his muscles. He needed to lie down somewhere safe and quiet, and automatically headed upstairs.

His own bedroom had become a hospital ward; he could hear the chuntering of the men from within. Most of the other rooms were being used for a similar purpose, but, thank God, Thomas' was silent and dark.

Opening the door fully, he entered and was about to yell out his fury to see the bed occupied, when his eyes became accustomed to the light and he could make out the dreadful injuries to the soldier's legs.

"Not a pretty sight, eh?" said the man who was of mixed race. "That's why they keep me away from the others. Sorry you had to see the mess the Huns made of me, but I'm waiting for the doc to come and redress the wounds. He's taking his time."

Athos couldn't answer him because he was lost in the trenches, trying to pull his brother's burned and decimated body back into one piece so that the medics could stop the blood pumping out of torn arteries and save his life. With tears welling in his eyes he stumbled away, slamming into Aramis and then racing out of the house and across the yard to the stables, the only place he could think of to hide.

The stalls were unoccupied and the pile of clean straw was musty with age and rather damp, but it was as good a place as any to fall apart, and coughing, choking on tears of misery and anger, he broke down and sobbed.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis watched the man hurry off down the corridor. There was something horribly sad about him -- a need to push people away that was almost haunted in its desperation.

"Who was that miserable sod?" asked Porthos.

"He, my dear fellow, was the reason I've kept you waiting so long." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aramis examined the stitches. "You're coming along nicely."

"Thanks to you," said Porthos with a grateful smile. "When will I be well enough to try walking?"

"Not yet," laughed Aramis. "Just be thankful you still have two pins."

It had been hit and miss. The surgeon had taken one look at Porthos and had wanted to amputate on the spot. It was only because of Aramis' heartfelt petition to Treville that the damage could be repaired, that it had been prevented it from happening. The infection that set in afterwards had made the road to recovery a few miles longer, but at last Porthos was healing and had spoken of feeling returning to both limbs.

"So," said Porthos as Aramis redressed his wounds. "You've told me that this misery guts of a stranger is the reason I'm freezing to death, but nothing more interesting than that."

"He's Major Athos Lafère." Aramis tied off the last bandage. "A handsome name for a handsome man, eh?"

"I couldn't see past the sullen expression," said Porthos.

“It’s hard, I admit.” Aramis looked up with a twinkle in his eye. "He's the owner of the house and wishes us all to bugger off so he can be left alone to brood."

"Well, as soon as he finds me a wheelchair, a civilian suit of clothes and a place to live then I'll be out of his hair," grinned Porthos.

Aramis patted his patient sympathetically on the shoulder. The man was a brick, battling every terrible thing thrown at him and coming through it with a smile. An unwanted child, brought up in one of the Barnardo homes, the army had been his life and now they were throwing him aside as they were doing with all the broken down survivors, but, unlike some, Porthos Vallon had nothing to go back to.

"My concern is to get you fit enough to get back on your feet," said Aramis. "Lafère can shout all he likes, but he has no say in the matter. Treville will see to it that we remain here for as long as we need to."

After doing his rounds of the bedridden, Aramis entered the recreation room to find the captain standing on the sun porch, watching Sister Constance and her band of nurses put the soldiers through their paces in a game of catch. Some were amputees, some had spinal injuries and all were in wheelchairs. None of them were truly ready to be moved from here.

“That young lady is a godsend,” said Treville, watching to see how cleverly Constance kept all the patients involved, even Private d’Artagnan, one of the youngest to be treated here, who was struggling to regain the use of his legs after a bullet to his back.

“Did you know she wants to go to medical school?” said Aramis. “She should too. She’d make a fine doctor.”

“Maybe one day,” said Treville.

“Change is coming sooner than you think, Captain,” replied Aramis. This war, they had lived through, had pushed society to breaking point. It would need to learn to adapt in order to survive. “Can Lafère force us to leave?”

Treville sighed. “Technically yes, as the army has already relinquished its official occupation order on the Manor.”

“But what will we do?” said Aramis.

“You’ll go work in a hospital and put your skills to good use. I’ll retire to a desk job and, in a decade or two, Sister Bonacieux will get her medical degree.”

Aramis frowned. “You know what I’m asking.”

Treville sighed again. “The world is not a kind place, Aramis, and it’s especially hard on those who don’t fit in. I’ve found alternative accommodation for the twenty sickest and they’ll be shipping out tomorrow. The lucky few will be going home.” He looked at Aramis. “I don't know what will happen to the others. The army seems to think that medical discharge papers and a tiny pension will be sufficient to see them through life.”

“Then what can we do about it?” asked Aramis.

“I suggest, for a start, that you put some of that legendary charm of yours to work on Major Lafère.” Treville smiled ruefully at him. “He may be the only chance we have.”

Aramis grinned. He always enjoyed a spot of flattery. “Where _is_ our friendly landlord?”

“I saw him scuttle off into the grounds about an hour ago,” said Treville. “I've seen neither hide nor hair of him since.”

“May I borrow that good bottle of scotch?” said Aramis. “The one you keep locked in the desk.”

Treville frowned at him over the top of his spectacles. “When do you intend to pay it back?”

“The day I get a result from it,” said Aramis with a smile.

Armed with the Glenfiddich and two water glasses, Aramis embarked on a search mission. Other than using them for rehabilitation purposes, he'd never had time to explore the grounds. A lad from the village kept the lawns in good order and the hedges trimmed, but the buildings were neglected and weatherbeaten. This whole place had probably once been magnificent, but now it was undeniably down at heel.

After a route march through the woodlands, Aramis turned his search in the direction of the buildings where he eventually discovered Major Lafère, looking more miserable than ever, seated on the floor with his back resting against the wall.

“Bugger off, will you?” the man said. “You’ve taken over my home; you could at least have the decency to leave me the stables. Or do you have plans to turn them into an operating theatre?”

"Now there's an idea,” said Aramis with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Then we wouldn’t have to cart our boys all the way to town for their surgeries.” 

The look on Athos’ face was priceless. At war with his emotions, he ran the gamut of them, from outrage through to confusion and ending up at wry amusement. "Well done, Lieutenant Herblay," he said. "You succeeded in making me smile."

"Call me Aramis and I'll try my best to do so again," said Aramis.

"There's no need for familiarity seeing as we'll not be acquainted for long," said Lafère, turning away as he was laid low by a hacking cough.

"Come on, old thing," said Aramis, pouring two large whiskies. "You wouldn't honestly put sick men out on the streets, would you?"

Lafère took the scotch and downed it in a gulp. "Their welfare is not my concern," he said. "There will be other places to house the crippled." He took the bottle from Aramis and refilled his glass.

Aramis seethed. How could a man who'd lived through this hell be so dispassionate about his fellow soldiers? "Not now the war is over," he snapped. "There'll be no more requisitions, or provision for military hospitals. These men have paid the highest price and aren't even recognised by their own government. You're making their miserable lot even worse, for no reason other than selfishness."

"Indeed," said Lafère. "But thank you for the scotch. I haven't had a decent single malt in years."


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos put his breakfast tray to one side and stared longingly out of the window. The sun was shining and he could hear the other soldiers playing games. If only his wounds would heal enough to allow him to join them. He was going mad being cooped up in here, day in, day out.

Perhaps he could work on his strength a little. The chest of drawers beside him was a sturdy piece of furniture and the longer Porthos looked at it, the more convinced he became that this was a good idea.

Carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he tested his weight tentatively. The pain was extreme, but only to be expected. Pushing down on the oak top, he managed to raise himself to standing and was triumphant until his right leg gave way and he teetered, trying to regain his balance and failing dismally, then crashing to the floor.

Tears of agony poured from his eyes as he lay in a crumpled heap, cursing his own stupidity.

"What's happened here?" said a voice from the doorway.

Porthos twisted his neck to see Major Lafère peering down at him, half dressed in trousers, vest and braces, unshaven and with his hair awry. "Help me up," he said through gritted teeth.

The man looked uncomfortable. "I have no idea as to the extent of your injuries. I'll call Lieutenant Herblay."

"Don't," said Porthos. "He'll be mad as hell. Just get me back into bed, will you?"

"I'd rather not."

"Don't want to touch a darkie?" challenged Porthos. "Don't worry. My colour isn't catching."

For a moment Lafère looked stricken and then, without another word, he escaped the room, calling for assistance, his voice echoing down the corridor.

When Aramis appeared with Constance beside him, Porthos knew he was in deep trouble. He searched for a reasonable excuse, but nothing came immediately to mind.

"You fool," said Aramis, bending over to examine him. "You realise that you could have put your recovery back weeks." He glared at Porthos. "This sort of thing could put paid to you ever walking again. Is that what you want?”

“No,” admitted Porthos. “I don’t think I’ve done too much damage. If you could just help me back to bed I promise I’ll stay there until you say I’m ready to move.”

“Could we not at least carry him down and let him take some fresh air?” said Constance, helping Aramis to lift Porthos back into bed. “It must be soul destroying to be stuck here away from everyone.”

Porthos looked hopefully at Aramis. “Would it be possible?”

“I’m afraid the answer is no,” said Aramis. “Not until the wounds are healed and your general health has improved. The risk of reinfection is too great.”

“There are some good books here,” said Constance, with a smile of encouragement. “I’ll grab a few. They should keep you entertained.”

Porthos watched her nose along the shelves that lined the room, picking out a small stack of novels. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that his reading skills weren’t particularly well developed. He could get by, but that was about it. He'd had little access to books at the orphanage.

“Here,” she said. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Count of Monte Cristo and a couple of Sherlock Holmes short stories. That should keep you out of trouble for a while.”

“Thank you,” said Porthos, watching as she arranged the small library on top of the chest of drawers.

“The moment you’re fit enough, we’ll start work on your upper body strength and then move on to crutches,” said Aramis. “I promise I’ll not leave you languishing up here any longer than is necessary.”

Porthos believed him and nodded. He still felt embarrassed over the whole incident, acting like a child when everyone here had been so kind to him. “I’ll behave from now on,” he said. “But is there any chance of opening a window and drawing back the curtains fully. At least then I might feel as if I’m still in the land of the living.”

“Of course,” said Constance. “The light bothered you so much when you first arrived here that we’ve become accustomed to this being a dark old den.” Bustling over to the window she tied back the drapery and pulled up the lower sash. “That’s much better.”

"Thanks," said Porthos, staring out at the sky and enjoying the feel of the air on his skin.

"And no more acrobatics whilst I'm gone," said Aramis from the doorway.

"Yes, sir," said Porthos with a grin.

Constance picked up the tray. "I'll get one of the girls to bring you up a cup of tea," she said. "I expect you could do with one after that fall. It must have been a shock."

"That'd be nice," said Porthos.

Left on his own, he gazed out of the window for a while and then, yawning from boredom rather than exhaustion, he picked up one of the books to see if he could make sense of it. There were so many words, even on the first page, that he was daunted. He persisted, sipping at the cup of tea Fleur had brought him, but it was hard going and more tedious than staring into space.

"Sorry to disturb you," said a low pitched voice, "only I wondered whether I might have a quick word."

Porthos looked up to see Lafère peering into the room. He appeared to be in a slightly better state than he had been first thing, but still rough around the edges. He seemed downhearted and, despite everything, Porthos couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the man.

"Of course." He laid the book on his lap.

"I know my running out of here on two separate occasions must have looked appalling." The major paused and then glanced up briefly. "But what you accused me of simply isn't true. I have no issue whatsoever with the colour of your skin and I apologise if it appeared that way."

"Then what _is_ your problem with me?" asked Porthos curiously.

"It's not you." Lafère twisted his hands together. "It's everyone. To be honest, I was hoping to come home and get a little peace."

Porthos shrugged. "You must have had to cope with people during the war."

The major smiled wryly. "Rather a lot of them," he said. "I was in the trenches for a long time."

"Weren't we all." Porthos frowned. Did the bastard think he'd sustained these injuries from a game of rugby? "The unlucky ones who didn't snuff it, that is."

The mood changed suddenly.

"This was my brother's bedroom," said Lafère, glaring at Porthos with ice cold eyes. "He died at Ypres. By the time I got to him he was choking on mustard gas and blown to smithereens. I don't think he counted himself as _lucky_." The anger vanished as quickly as it came and the man withdrew into his shell. "I'll leave you to your book," he said, heading for the door.

Today was going very badly indeed and Porthos wondered how many more mistakes he would make by the end of it. No wonder Lafère had been so upset to find him here, occupying his dead brother's bed. "I don't read well," he admitted quietly. "Enough to get by, but that's about it." He looked up hopefully. "Perhaps you could read some of this to me." The major had a soothing voice, full of melody, and Porthos imagined he'd enjoy listening to him.

"I would, but I doubt I'd manage more than a couple of paragraphs." Lafère looked at Porthos apologetically. "My cough would annoy you more than it does me."

"Gas poisoning?" asked Porthos.

Lafère nodded. "Twice. I'm lucky not to be blind or dead." His mouth turned up into a half smile. "Although I rather agree with your earlier statement. We're fallen, but not far enough, I think."

He turned to leave and on instinct Porthos called him back. "Major, I'm sorry for everything I said."

"No need. We're all in the same boat," said Lafère. He strode over and looked at the selection of books at Porthos' bedside and then wandered over to the shelves, searching amongst them and picking one out. "Try this," he said, handing it to Porthos. "It was my favourite. Perhaps it will turn out to be yours."

Porthos slowly sounded out the title in his head. "The Wind In the Willows," he said falteringly.

"It's a good tale," said Lafère. "Read some to me."

Porthos frowned as the man pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed.

"If you can read enough to get by, then you can read, full stop," continued Lafère. "Have a go. You've got nothing to lose but your boredom."

And my pride, thought Porthos, but beneath the layers of hurt, he could see glimpses of a kind soul and, wanting to please him, he opened the book and was shocked to discover the story of a mole cleaning house. Stumbling over the words, he was irritated at first to be given such nonsense to plough through, but was soon drawn into the world of the riverbank. 

What seemed like moments later, Porthos was most surprised to discover that he'd read a whole chapter and that Lafère was fast asleep next to him with his head resting on the blanket.


	4. Chapter 4

The forty pounders crashed around him. The sky lit up from the flare of gunfire and still the rain kept coming down. He'd never seen so much filth. Had never imagined it possible that soldiers would be so exhausted that they would willingly drown themselves in this liquid mud, their feet rotting and their eyes hopeless. He wanted to die with them, but could never quite give up.

Athos started awake, confused and frightened to find himself in a strange place with a hand resting on his shoulder.

"It's just a dream," said a voice. "We're out of the trenches now. You're back at home."

Forcing himself to a full state of alertness, Athos sat up ramrod straight. "I apologise," he said in embarrassment. "I was tired. Didn't get much sleep last night."

"Too upset?" said Porthos.

"Too drunk," admitted Athos. He'd spent half the night in the lav throwing up Glenfiddich. What a waste!

"I can't even remember what it feels like to be drunk," said Porthos gloomily.

"I don't recommend it." Athos raised a weary eyebrow at him. "The after-effects are unpleasant."

Red faced, he got up and scraped a hand through his hair. "I must try and smarten myself up a little before facing the world. Your reading skills are fine, by the way. You just need to practice. I enjoyed listening. It's been a long time since I heard that story."

A wave of misery crashed over him and he turned away and headed for the door.

"Thank you, Major," said Porthos. "Any time you want to hear more, you know where I'll be."

Athos tried to speak, but all that came out was a harsh cough. Raising a hand to acknowledge Porthos' words, he hurried off to the bathroom to tidy himself up.

The soak in the tub was enjoyable until he felt himself dropping off and dreaming. To stop it from happening again, he stood up and scrubbed his body from head to toe with strong smelling coal tar soap, hoping it would disguise the foul odour of mustard gas, and whilst he was washing he let his thoughts drift towards Porthos.

It had been more than two years since he'd allowed himself to feel close to another human being. Tom's death had broken him, removing the will to form any kind of relationship, but for some odd reason, Porthos felt like a kindred spirit. Skin colour of no meaning to him, he recognised in the man a connection to the brother and best friend he had lost in Belgium. Only eleven months apart, he and Tom were more like twins than plain old siblings. But Porthos was not Tom, he reminded himself. He was just the wounded soldier who was temporarily occupying his bed.

Unwilling to visit his own room and risk making the acquaintance of any other patients, he raided his trunk for the last of his clean clothes, then rinsed out a pile of his underwear and shirts, hanging them to dry in the airing cupboard. In an echo of the past, he pictured the house full of servants, scurrying back and forth to wait on the family, hand and foot. It was an undeserved privilege in his eyes and he was glad those days were over, even if it meant he had to do his own laundry.

About to forage in the kitchen for some breakfast, he was disturbed by a voice from the front door.

"Athos, darling, is that really you? Gosh, you look different with a beard."

Athos stared at the speaker in shock. "It was Anne, Thomas' Anne, as elegant and perfect as always, dressed to the nines and untouched by the horrors of war.

"Serge mentioned to Malling that you were back, so I had to come see for myself."

"How are you?" said Athos. "I hope all is well with the family."

The Habsburgs were one of the more important dynasties in the area, but Anne and her siblings had been lifetime playmates of the Lafère boys.

"We're all fine, thank you." She looked down. "I was sorry to hear about Thomas."

Athos' heart wrenched in his chest. Anne and Thomas had fallen in love as children and had become engaged before he left for the front to join Athos' company. How could she simply be sorry? He stared at her, needing to hear more. To know how devastated she was. How her life meant nothing now that Tom was gone from it.

"I'm married now," she said suddenly, looking up at Athos with a challenge in her eyes. "To Louis."

Athos blinked back the tears. Louis Bourbon was the precocious upstart they'd all despised as they were growing up. The boy who possessed everything, except for a personality and manners.

"Why?" he intoned, trying to hide his distress. "Did Tom really mean that little to you?"

Anne backed away from him. "How could you even think that?"

"Your Ladyship," interrupted Captain Treville. "How kind of you to drop by and visit the injured."

"I've been meaning to do so for a while." Turning away from Athos, Anne switched on her charm. "But I've been so busy since the wedding."

"Perfectly understandable," said Treville.

She took the captain's arm in that cosy way of hers. "Now you must tell me what I can do to assist you here."

"Let me introduce you to our resident doctor," said Treville. "He and the nurses have been doing a wonderful job of rehabilitating the chaps, and I'm sure he'll come up with some ways in which you can help."

They strolled off, carrying with them the final remnants of Athos' childhood. He watched them depart for the recreation area, the former drawing room which had once been the backdrop to their lives, and knew now that he must learn the rules of this new world. Anne was born to survive and he must do the same. Either that or give up and buy another bottle of whisky.


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting at the Davenport desk in the corner of the rec room, Aramis was going through ways of trying to acquire some much needed resources without actually having any purchasing power whatsoever. The coffers had dried up. The country was broke and along with it any funds for the returned servicemen, even if they had been injured in the line of duty.

Setting the accounts aside, he began to draft a letter to the Red Cross. They had initially supplied them with much needed medical equipment, but now they were in desperate need of crutches, wheelchairs and PT equipment to help the boys recover their strength.

"Aramis," said Treville in a much breezier voice than was usual for him.

Aramis looked up to see Treville arm in arm with a beautiful young lady, the owner of a pair of sweet eyes and intricately cast features. Ever the foolish romantic, he fell instantly in love.

"Lady Bourbon, this is our doctor, Lieutenant Herblay, known to one and all as Aramis."

Aramis was on his feet instantly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, your Ladyship."

"Please call me Anne." The woman gazed around the room, lost for a moment. "I'm not used to standing on ceremony at La Fère." She walked over to the bay window and looked out at the garden. "I should have come here months ago. It was very remiss of me. Now tell me what I can do to help these poor cripples."

Aramis' love faded and he bristled with anger. "For a start, you could remember that they're more than just their injuries. They're soldiers who've been wounded defending their country in order to keep it safe for people like you."

"Aramis!" exclaimed Treville. "I apologise, Lady Bourbon. The doctor here will avidly defend these boys to his last breath."

"As he should." Anne took hold of Aramis' hand. "I'm sorry for being so insensitive. Now tell me what I can do."

Aramis realised suddenly what they had been fighting for. He'd only spent a short time in the trenches and yet he'd thought the horror and pointlessness of it would never leave him. At least now he could see that there was something good left in this world that was not obliterated by mud and guts.

"We need equipment," he said bluntly. "Without it we can't hope to rehabilitate the men fully." 

Then he remembered a more immediate problem, one which the woman might well be able to rectify. She seemed familiar with the house, which must mean she was familiar with its surly owner.

"But most of all," he continued, "we need to keep this place open as a nursing home. Without it these men have no chance."

Anne looked blankly up at him.

"I believe you know Major Lafère."

"I'll organise a fundraising committee," she said, blanking his last words. "Also my uncle was in the War Office and I'll have a word with him about your requirements." She smiled. "It's not what you know; it's whom you know."

"And you know Major Lafère," insisted Aramis. Without the Manor, all other plans would be pointless.

Anne looked away. "I'm afraid I'm the last person who could convince Athos to do anything. I'm taking a trip into town tomorrow. I'll see if my uncle can find out whether there are any other vacant buildings near here that may be of use to you."

Inquisitive by nature, Aramis wondered what was the problem between them. He assumed it must be a love affair gone wrong from the level of sadness in Anne's eyes.

"I must go," she said. "I'll visit soon with any news from London."

"I'll show you to your motor, Lady Anne," said Treville.

With a nod of farewell at Aramis, she took the captain's arm once again. "Just Anne when I'm here," she reminded him. "War is a great leveller, don't you think."

Drawn along on the wings of her charm, Aramis followed, standing in the doorway and watching her climb into the car, assisted by her chauffeur.

Major Lafère was also watching her depart, but with a distinctly sullen expression on his face. 

"She came to visit you rather than the sick, I take it," said Aramis.

"I believe she came to tell me she was married," said Lafère. "Although why she bothered I really don't know."

"Is she a former sweetheart?" asked Aramis.

The major looked at him in astonishment. "Far from it. Closer to a sister, I suppose." He looked around him as if he expected to see the house in its former glory. "And now she's married to the biggest arse in the district." He shrugged his shoulders in disbelief. "Women."

"Can't live without them," laughed Aramis, patting Lafère on the back.

"I most certainly can." That eyebrow lifted in wry amusement. "I've sworn off them for life."


	6. Chapter 6

The house had been a hive of activity for the last day or two. Porthos could hear the boys being shipped out, carried on stretchers to the waiting ambulances. Stuck here in this tomb, he'd not personally known any of them, but he'd still miss the noise.

"How many of us are left here?" he asked Aramis, who was checking to see whether he'd suffered any ill effects after the fall.

"Half a dozen," said Aramis. "I think we'll be ready to have you up on some crutches soon."

"Now that you have some to spare." Porthos grinned. He knew the state of play with equipment. "Where am I being sent?"

"I'm hoping nowhere," smiled Aramis, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Grown fond of my face?" said Porthos.

Aramis nodded. "And your unsinkable spirit. A lot of the chaps here are struggling to come to terms with life."

"There's no point wallowing," said Porthos.

"At least you'll walk again," Aramis reminded him. "Some of them don't have that luxury."

Porthos nodded. "So," he asked. "Is Major Lafère kicking us out any time soon?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Aramis. "The man is impossible to read."

"He lost his brother in Ypres," said Porthos. "He came home to mourn him, I think. They were close."

He'd never had a home, let alone a mansion to live in, but he could still sympathise with loss and grief.

"I didn't know that," said Aramis, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I've been too hard on him."

"Tread gently and we might still have a bed to sleep in." 

"Thank you for letting me know." Aramis stood up. "I'll employ my best pussy footing techniques."

Once the doctor had departed, Porthos let a loud and rather miserable sigh escape him. His good spirits were mostly a front. With his career in the army over he was struggling to see a future. What hope was there for a mixed race cripple?

"You look down in the dumps."

Porthos glanced up to see Lafère in his customary stance, leaning against the doorjamb with a box in his arms. "I am a bit," he admitted. "Everyone's shipping out. They've all got somewhere to go." He shook his head to clear the fog of self pity. "What's that you got there?"

"Two things," said Lafère with a smirk. "One good for you, one bad."

"I'm useless at bloody puzzles," said Porthos, who was, by nature, horribly impatient. "Tell me."

"I had a rummage in the attic and found these," said Lafère. Putting the box down with a sigh of relief, he removed a set of hand held weights, the kind used in a gymnasium. "Tom loved to train."

Porthos took the weights from him, hefting them upwards in a series of repetitions. Damn, it was frightening how out of condition he was. "And the second thing?" he asked.

The major took a bottle of whisky out of the box and waved it at him with a smile. "I prefer to keep drunk rather than keep fit. I thought you might like to share it with me."

Porthos watched him stow it away in the bottom of the chest of drawers and grinned. "Nothing I'd enjoy more," he said. "But what about when you were younger. I'm sure boozing wasn't your sport back then."

"I suppose not," said Lafère, moving the stack of books to the window sill and lining up the weights in size order along the top of the cupboard, within easy reach of Porthos' grasp.

The effort made him cough helplessly and as he sank onto the bed, Porthos rubbed his back.

"That chest of yours is bad," he said. "You need to talk to Aramis about it."

"There's nothing anyone can recommend, other than fresh air and relaxation." Lafère coughed again. "With any luck it'll kill me sooner rather than later. I'm praying for a bad winter."

"Don't say that, Major," said Porthos earnestly. His own depressive state was bad enough without hearing anyone else succumb to the darkness.

Lafère visibly winced. "Please call me Athos," he said. "I hate ranks and have no wish to be reminded of the part I played in the war."

"Right then, Athos," said Porthos, patting him gently between the shoulder blades. "I reckon you should pour us a drink, and after that we can get on with an afternoon of calisthenics."

"I'm not certain you're quite up to that," smiled Athos. "But we'll begin with the scotch and see how we progress from there."

Unused to spirits, after this long without them, one large whisky was enough to make Porthos' head spin, and the bottle was carefully replaced in the drawer ready for the next time. He had a feeling that, if encouraged to do so, Athos would happily have finished the lot, but Porthos preferred to gee him along with competition rather than oblivion.

"I thought I was supposed to be training you to be ready for crutches," said Athos, who was now stripped down to vest and trousers as Porthos counted out sets. "I don't consider this a sport," he added plaintively.

"Well what is?" asked Porthos.

"Polo, fencing, shooting, that kind of thing." Athos passed the weights over and collapsed coughing into one of the pair of wingback chairs by the window.

"Posh boys' games," said Porthos, with a grunt of irritation as he began another round of exercises.

Athos nodded wearily. "My world was very different, I agree, but now everything in it has gone, just the same as yours. I may own this bloody mausoleum, but I have very little money to run it with and I don't even want the place."

"And yet you're happy to throw us lot out onto the streets," said Porthos, not letting him off the hook too easily. "Seems selfish to me."

"I suppose it must do." Athos stood up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I just needed some time by myself."

"You don't have to be on your own to mourn your brother," said Porthos in a softer tone of voice. "Grieving's best done with others around to help you get through it."

For the third time since he'd been back, Athos made a sudden exit, hurrying out of the room, once again muttering a brusque apology, and Porthos wondered if the bloke was ever going to learn that feelings weren't something he could run away from, however hard he tried.

By the time a week had passed, Aramis was so impressed with the improvements Porthos had made to his physical strength that, as promised, he brought him a set of crutches.

"Your wounds are healing extraordinarily well," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and examining the ridges of stitchwork that decorated both of Porthos' legs from ankle to thigh. "It must be the vast amount of food you eat."

"Good tucker's not to be sneezed at," grinned Porthos.

They were blessed to be living here in the countryside, surrounded by acres of farmland with a wealth of produce. Fleur was a whizz in the kitchen and Porthos was only too happy to show his appreciation with empty plates that had been scraped clean of every morsel.

"It's beef stew and mash tonight," said Constance. "Followed by rice pudding."

Porthos' belly growled with interest and everyone in the room laughed. "Better get me out of bed and help me build up an appetite," he said with gusto.

"Can I be of any assistance?" said a voice from the periphery.

"Hello, Athos." Porthos grinned at him. "Come to see me fall flat on my face?"

"To prevent you from doing so, I hope," the man replied in that cultured voice.

"You'll be very useful indeed," said Aramis. "Our chap here is a colossus and could easily fell Nurse Bonacieux."

"Oi, enough of that," said Porthos. "The more there is of me, the more feelings there are to get hurt."

"There's also too much chatter and not enough activity," said Constance, folding her arms. "Stop gassing, boys, and get on with it before Christmas is here."

"Yes miss, sorry miss," said Aramis, tugging a forelock and Porthos and Athos smiled at each other, enjoying the cheerful banter between doctor and nurse.

With both men supporting Porthos, he made it up from the bed to standing and as soon as the crutches were in place he felt human again for the first in months. Within a minute, however, the world began to spin and he fell back heavily on the bed, crutches clattering to the floor as he threw up into the bowl Constance passed him.

It was a humiliating experience. "What happened there?" he asked when he was done and was sipping from a glass of water.

"The transition to being upright is a shock to the senses after so long," explained Aramis. "It's a lot like seasickness. It doesn't happen to everyone so I didn't want to forewarn you."

"You should have done," growled porthos. "I hate puking my guts up in front of other people."

"One gets used to it," said Athos with a smirk. "Are you ready to give the crutches another go?"

"I s'pose so," said Porthos dubiously.

"There's a good fellow," said Aramis. "We'll have you running a mile in no time."

Every step was a marathon, but little by little Porthos regained his strength and, with it, his independence. In a matter of days, he was strong enough to hobble over to the window by himself and sit in one of the easy chairs.

His progress would not have gone so well without Athos, a constant presence at his side, there to support him when he wobbled and catch him before he fell. The staff had grown so accustomed to them being together that they'd begun to bring two plates of food up to the room at mealtimes.

Porthos wished there was a way to repay the man for all his understated kindness. Because of Athos, in just a couple of months both his reading and his mobility had improved no end, but it was the companionship that Porthos appreciated the most.

"I'd like to do something for you," he said as they sat together at the window, enjoying a clandestine whisky and watching the other lads toss a ball back and forth to each other in the garden.

"You do more than you know, my friend," said Athos and with the smirk missing, he looked so exhausted and weary of life that Porthos felt his own heart ache in response.


	7. Chapter 7

Not the kind of man to make a fuss, Athos had been sleeping in the attic since his return to La Fère. It was cold up here, even during the summer months, and with just a single electric bulb to illuminate the vast space, it was a bleak place. His own room was now free, the patients having been shipped out weeks ago, but he lacked both energy and willpower to transform it back from a ward and had no desire to sleep in hospital conditions, not after months at the Royal Victoria.

The wind was picking up, whistling through the rafters and he turned over onto his side, trying to discover a comfortable position on the old canvas camping bed. None was to be found and he pulled the grey woollen blanket around his shoulders and pushed sleep away.

The first rumble of thunder had him sitting bolt upright, the bed almost tipping at the sudden movement. He prayed in desperation for the storm to move away, but instead the wind began to lash the panes of glass in the gable windows and the first flash of lightning had him back in Belgium.

Fear taking hold, he stumbled out of bed, almost tripping down the narrow staircase in his haste to get away.

"C-can I stay in here?" he said, barging into Porthos' room, with no thought as to whether his friend might be asleep.

Porthos wasn't asleep. The nightlight was on as usual and Athos was relieved, almost to the point of tears, when the man smiled at him and pulled back the covers.

"Horrible isn't it. Sends us poor sods straight back to the battlefields."

Pathetically grateful, Athos climbed into the bed. Mindful of Porthos' injuries he was careful to keep his distance. No one would want to be near him with the smell of mustard gas oozing from his pores.

"Come here," said Porthos. "You won't hurt me."

A viciously loud thunderclap caused both men to huddle together and afterwards they laughed.

"War's turned us into pansies," said Porthos. "Bloody hell, you're freezing. Have you been sleeping in the pantry?"

"The attic actually," admitted Athos.

"You haven't?" said Porthos in horror. "There must be plenty of spare rooms now most of the lads have gone." He pulled Athos closer to warm him up.

"Don't," said Athos, shying away in embarrassment. "I stink of mustard gas." 

"You smell of soap like always," said Porthos reassuringly. "Now stop being a twit and let me warm you up before you get pneumonia."

The storm circled around and around, with no intention, it seemed, of leaving them be.

"How long were you over there?" asked Porthos. 

"Over three years," said Athos. "At first we were on scouting duties. That wasn't so bad; it was much worse for the infantry who were holding the line."

"Don't I know it," said Porthos.

"Then we were gassed. My horse was shot from under me. My men were stuck on the wire, burning, screaming and I couldn't do anything to help." Athos closed his eyes tightly and shoved himself into the warmth of Porthos' body. "After that, once they'd got me out, there were no more advances and we were stuck in the trenches for a year and a half. I prayed that Tom would stay away. The day he turned up was the second worst of my life."

"We were in the Somme for most of it," said Porthos. "Hell on earth. Each time the shells hit I hoped that'd be the end. The men were dying like flies around me, bodies rotting in the trenches, alive and dead. Soldiers who'd just got letters from their sweethearts and their mothers with their heads blown off, and me, with no one, still in one piece. Then when it happened and that shell finally had my name on it-" He stopped. "Well, you know how I felt. Don't want to say it again. Not after what happened to your brother."

"You felt cheated," said Athos, looking across at Porthos. "Cheated out of death, the same as I did."

"Yeah," said Porthos with feeling. "And now?"

"I still do," said Athos and then he thought about it carefully. "But to a lesser degree, I think."

"Yeah," said Porthos again. 

By now, the storm had finally moved away into the distance and Athos swung his legs unwillingly out of the bed.

"Oi! Where are you off to?" said Porthos. "Stay here."

It was a tempting proposition. Athos hadn't felt as warm and safe in years, but there were reasons he must go. "I’m afraid I'd keep you awake," he said. "I have dreadful nightmares."

"And you think I don't?" laughed Porthos in a low rumble that Athos could feel. "Stay with me tonight. We can keep watch over each other and drive the demons away. Tomorrow, I'll ask Aramis if he can move a bed in for you. There's plenty of room in here for two."

"Are you sure?" asked Athos tentatively. He hated to be a burden and his problems were many and varied.

"Least I can do," said Porthos. "More than that, I'd like it."

Another shard of lightning split the sky, settling the matter, and more comfortable than he ever thought possible, Athos lay protected, his fears at bay for once.

"Tom was scared of storms," he said as they listened to the rain start up again, heavy drops pattering against the windowpanes. "He'd run for my bed every time there was thunder and father was most disapproving. It wasn't the way for men to behave. We were always men no matter how old we were."

"Bit harsh," said Porthos. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died during a cholera epidemic when they were stationed out in Lucknow."

"And you and your brother were okay?"

"We were at prep school in Surrey," said Athos with a half smile. "Not much cholera to be caught in the home counties." 

Porthos let out a disapproving sigh. "Sorry, but if I had children I'd want to look after them."

"We were commodities," said Athos. "Insurance to carry on the family name."

"And I thought my life was bad," said Porthos.

"I'm certain yours was much worse. Mine was simply cold."

Porthos shrugged. "We had food, clothes, enough schooling to get us a trade and that was about it. When I joined the army at fourteen I thought it was brilliant. I had comradeship and a family for the first time. Got a bit of stick for being coloured, but I was good at what I did and they respected that. No promotions though because I was black. Couldn't have a negro in charge of white soldiers."

"The world is a bloody awful place," sighed Athos.

"The good news is that things can only improve," said Porthos, squeezing his shoulder, and Athos was surprised at how much better it felt to be alive, all of a sudden.


	8. Chapter 8

There had been no more talk of throwing sick men out onto the streets and Aramis was beginning to breathe more easily. The idea of having nowhere to send his remaining patients had been weighing him down greatly. 

Initially, he’d thought Lafère a cold hearted fellow, with little about him other than that constant aura of melancholy, but he had to admit he'd seen a new man emerge over the past few weeks. The firm friendship that had developed between him and Porthos was unexpected. Two people with less in common you were unlikely to find, but they were a prop for each other, medicine for the soul where nothing else was available.

When Anne turned up that afternoon, in her chauffeur driven motor car, Aramis was not only delighted to see her, but also extremely surprised by her visit. She'd seemed a lovely girl, but war had turned him into a cynical man and as he'd watched her depart that first day, he imagined that would be the last visit they'd receive from Lady Bountiful.

Treville was away in London at present and so Aramis strolled outside to play host, offering her first a small and rather flamboyant bow, and then his arm.

"It's lovely to see you," he said. "You're a breath of fresh air in a jaded world."

She looked him up and down then patted his arm. "I rather think that's you, Dr Aramis. Your patients are lucky to have you and your cheery nature."

Aramis quailed inside. If she only knew what he'd been through. "I try my best," he said with a smile. "Now, shall we have tea?"

"That would be lovely."

On their way through to the drawing room, he popped his head into the kitchen to drum up some refreshments, and as they sat at the table overlooking the garden, Anne eyed him, full of curiosity.

"You're far more at home here than Athos is, or ever _was_ come to think of it." She nodded her thanks to Fleur when the girl placed a tray on the table. "Do you come from a noble background?"

"Far from it," laughed Aramis. "We're a family of professional medics. My grandfather and father were doctors. My mother was a nurse in South Africa."

"Much more useful than having a title," said Anne with a small sigh. "I'm afraid my connections were unable to furnish you with another house."

"I don't think we need worry on that score," said Aramis, pouring the tea and then tapping his fingers on the surface of the table. "Touch wood, but I think your old friend is coming around to the idea of his house being a convalescence home, for the short term at least."

Anne laughed. "Seriously? You must have magical qualities if you're able to win Athos over. I love him to bits, but he's a notorious grump."

"It's not me that's worked miracles," said Aramis with a grin. "It's Fleur's Victoria sponge. Here, have a slice."

They chattered about inconsequential matters until the teapot was empty and the cake all gone, and as Anne stood up to leave, she looked out at a merry scene in the garden.

"Is that really Athos out there?" she said in amazement.

Aramis joined her at the open french doors and smiled at the sight of half a dozen young men ganging up on Lafère and bombarding him with beanbags.

"It is," he said. "He has a new pal who's worked wonders on his temperament. They're good for each other."

"I went to visit him in hospital at Netley," said Anne. "Though I doubt he remembers. I didn't think he'd ever come back to us. Shell shock is cruel."

Aramis was furious with himself. He'd offered to try and treat the man's chest, but having been given the brush off, he'd not pursued it, nor considered that there might be any other underlying problems. With so few resources on hand, it was impossible to look after the patients he was responsible for, never mind any waifs and strays that turned up on the doorstep.

"I hope I haven't upset you," said Anne, with a look of concern.

"No, of course not." Aramis smiled reassuringly at her. "I only wish we had the facilities to look after these soldiers properly. How are a dozen beanbags supposed to help get them back on their feet?" 

"We should hold a fundraiser here," said Anne. "A party. Invite everyone from nearby and let them see how much good you're doing."

"A wonderful idea in theory," said Aramis. "But what about the cost?"

"We'll serve champagne cocktails for refreshments," said Anne. "I'll provide those, and I'm sure we can find someone to play the piano." She looked sad for a moment. "There's also an old gramophone here."

She walked over to the far end of the room and tugged at the base of the bookcase to reveal a hidden cupboard.

"I never knew that was there," said Aramis in wonder, as he lugged the gramophone out of the recess and placed it on a table.

"This house is full of secrets," said Anne as she dug into the depths of the cupboard and found a stack of discs. "All old fashioned, of course, but we can still have a dance. Crank it up."

Aramis looked mystified at the machine. He'd never used one before.

"Like this," said Anne and she turned the handle to wind it up and placed the needle on the disc.

The music was scratchy and was playing at completely the wrong tempo, but it was fun, and acting on instinct, Aramis grabbed Anne and waltzed her around the room, both of them laughing with delight as they dodged in and out of the furniture with ease.

It came as a shock when the tune ended abruptly, and with a roar of disapproval and a crash of metal the machine was knocked to the ground by a furious Athos.

"How could you?" he said, grabbing Anne by the upper arms and turning her to face him.

"Leave the lady alone," warned Aramis.

"Stay out of this," said Athos, turning that temper on him. "It has nothing to do with you." 

Anne nodded at Aramis to indicate that everything was fine. She didn't look at all bothered and he immediately relaxed. Athos had said they were like brother and sister, and this must be a typical family quarrel. With five siblings himself, he knew better than to intrude upon one of those.

Limping slowly in from the garden on his crutches, Porthos came over to stand next to Aramis. "What's going on?" he asked in a low voice. "He high tailed it in here like the Boche were on the advance." 

"I've no idea," muttered Aramis.

"You have no right to come in here and trample roughshod over the past. This is my house. These are my things." Athos stared at the floor. "Tom was my brother."

"But he's dead, Athos. They're both dead," said Anne. "We can't bring the past back to life."

"I don't give a damn about _her_ , but Tom-"

"Is gone," repeated Anne gently.

That doesn't mean you can flaunt your affairs in front of me. Do it elsewhere. Do it in front of your twerp of a husband, but not here."

Pulling back her arm, Anne slapped him hard on the cheek. "Aramis and I were _dancing_. We were having fun. Not that you've let go enough to do that for an awful long time."

"Oi!" said Porthos, stepping in to interrupt before things grew any more heated.

"It doesn't matter," said Athos wearily, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "She's probably right."

"I'm sorry," said Anne in a miserable voice. "I shouldn't have done that, or said those things. You know I'd never hurt you."

Athos ignored her apology and, without a second glance at anyone, hurried out of the room, with Porthos glaring at Anne as he hobbled after his friend.

"Best laid plans," said Aramis with a smile of consolation once he and Anne were alone.

"I was thoughtless," said Anne. "It's been so long since I enjoyed myself, and you remind me too much of better times." She sighed. "I mustn't come to the Manor again. It was a mistake to set foot in here."

"You must," said Aramis earnestly as he picked up the gramophone off the floor and fitted the parts back together. "See, no harm done. Porthos will talk Athos round and we'll have our fundraiser for the men as planned."

Dissent bothered him. Arguments bothered him. But the idea of never seeing Anne again bothered him most of all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of a prologue of sorts and the last chapter for a week or so as I'm off on holiday. Thank you for all the lovely comments. <3

"Hey, Athos!" puffed Porthos. "If you're thinking of buggering off to hide in the attic then please reconsider because it'll kill me to chase after you all the way up there."

Approaching their room, he heard the chink of glass on glass and was relieved to find Athos pouring two tots of whisky. It was good to know he was needed.

"That's enough exercise for one day," he said, propping the crutches against the wall and collapsing onto his bed. "Now come here and tell me what that performance was all about."

Athos sat next to him, passing him a glass and sighing in wounded fashion. "I'd rather just forget it ever happened."

"Not a chance. Secrets and lies are no good for anyone," said Porthos, sinking his shot in one go. "Who's the girl? Not your sweetie I'd guess."

Athos shook his head. "She was my brother's fiancée and now she's married to an imbecile. It hurt to see her dancing with Aramis, the way she used to with Tom."

"And this other person she was talking about?"

"My ex, also an Anne," said Athos with a shrug. "She was entrancing and I was taken in by her, but she was only after me for my money. When she found out I didn't have much she moved on to a snake called Rochefort. I heard on the grapevine that she'd died in a hunting accident."

"I'm sorry," Porthos said, reaching over him for the bottle and refilling their tumblers.

"Don't waste your pity on Anne and I. What we had wasn't real," said Athos bluntly. "I could never be myself with her. I wanted to be more like Tom, but it was never going to happen. I was determined to be the carefree one, the life and soul, and for a while Anne made it feel as if I was, but it was a sham like everything else." He slipped away into the past. "It should have been me that died over there in the battlefields."

Porthos felt sick at the thought. "No, it bloody shouldn't," he said, shaking Athos by the shoulders. "Don't you ever say that again. What would I have done without you these past few months?"

The moment he spoke these words aloud, Porthos was filled with fear. If it had been solely about Athos helping him with reading and walking then everything would be fine, but there was no escaping the fact that it meant so much more than that.

"What would I _do_ without you?" said Athos in response and as he spoke the room emptied of sound, of air, of everything except for the bell like ring of a glass falling to the floor as the two men were irresistibly drawn together.

It was impossible to pull away from this, and with one hand curled around Athos' neck, the other splayed against his back, Porthos kissed him. Soft brushes of tongue grew harder and more pleasure seeking until they both hummed with delight and laughed into each other's mouths at the sheer joy of the moment. It was heavenly, until reality hit with the force of a fourteen pound shell.

"What are we doing?" said Porthos, skittering away in fear as he pulled free. He was kissing another man. Not only that, he was kissing a man he’d come to think of as his dearest friend.

"We'll blame it on whisky and emotional baggage," said Athos, managing a shaky half smile at Porthos as he propped himself up on the pillows, but the way his hands were wringing together spoke of different feelings altogether.

"The problem is,” said Porthos slowly as he practiced some self analysis, “I don't feel the need to place blame." He prided himself on his honesty, and the truth was that no other kiss had impacted on him in such a way. It was both unnerving and, at the same time, incredibly exhilarating.

"Nor do I," admitted Athos and he reached out and gripped Porthos by the hand. "But even the little we've just done could be considered criminal. When I was at school, boys were sent down in disgrace for such behaviour. Worse still in the army. You must have had the talk when you joined up?"

"Yeah, but the officers always turned a blind eye to it," said Porthos. He'd not indulged in such things himself, but there was a chap who was willing to take it up the bum, and a rubber johnny that was regularly rinsed out and passed on. "Bit of comfort during wartime's not the end of the world."

"But the war is over," said Athos earnestly. "And they'll not be so lenient on us now. We could go to prison for what we just did."

"For kissing?" said Porthos incredulously.

"For intent to commit sodomy." Athos shrugged. "Which can mean exactly that."

"Have you ever kissed a bloke before?" asked Porthos. They were still holding hands and he could see no reason to end the contact just yet.

"No," said Athos. "Only ever one girl. You?"

"No men." Porthos laughed. "Lots of women though." He was a typical soldier when he was on leave. Drunk girls often wanted to find out what it was like to shag a black man.

"Anne and I never had sex." Athos blushed to his hairline. "She said she wanted to wait. Although with hindsight, I don't think she waited for me." He turned onto his side facing Porthos, lacing and unlacing their fingers in perpetual motion. "The thing is I didn't encourage her to bed, even when we were engaged."

Porthos understood what he was saying. He may have fucked a lot of women, but he'd never felt a connection until now. "One more kiss," he said softly. "And then we’ll put an end to this for good."

Athos nodded solemnly, closing the gap between them, and when their mouths came together, it was with such a rush of emotion that Porthos felt dizzied by it. The echo of footsteps along the landing forced them apart and they were still glancing at each other in shy bewilderment when Aramis walked into the room.

“You two look cosy,” he said, careful of Porthos’ injuries as he joined them on the double bed.

What could have been an awkward moment was deftly concealed by Athos. “I apologise for my earlier behaviour,” he said, shamefaced. “I was rude and childish. Anne and I are too much like brother and sister at times. Tom used to complain that we had a habit of spitting at each other like hostile cats. I see now what he meant.”

“You'll find she’s equally as remorseful, my friend,” said Aramis. “And all will be forgotten once you agree to the idea of a fundraising party. We need specialised equipment and more staff, and this area is heaving with old money.”

“I can hardly say no, under the circumstances,” smirked Athos. “Well played, Dr Herblay.”

“She also told me that you arrived here straight from the Royal Victoria,” said Aramis in a low voice. “If there’s anything I can do to help then please say, even if it’s just an ear.”

Porthos hated seeing that stricken look return to Athos’ face, but he was pleased as punch to hear the next words out of the man’s mouth.

“Thank you for the offer, but I have Porthos for that.”

“You’ll let the doc here have a proper listen to your chest though,” said Porthos, with a stern glance in his direction.

“From that never ending cough of yours, I’d hazard a guess at gas poisoning,” said Aramis and received a quick nod from Athos. “There isn’t a lot we can do, other than keep you as fit as possible, though I would like to check how well your lungs are functioning at some point.” He then looked over at the bottle on the cupboard. “Whisky isn’t the best medicine, but it does help pass the day.”

That’s a hint, if ever I heard one.” Porthos looked at his watch. "I'm not sure what the yardarm is, but I'm guessing the sun is well past it somewhere in the world."

Athos smiled, and after rounding up three glasses, he poured and passed around the drinks, sitting away from the other two men on his own bed, his head bent low.

“To the Great War and its bloody awful consequences,” said Porthos, though privately he couldn’t help be a little bit thankful. Without it, he’d never have spoken to Athos, let alone kissed the man.

“I know what it was like over there,” said Aramis, in a sudden outpouring of words. “I was hospitalised after two months on the front. My entire squad was killed around me and I couldn’t cope being the only survivor.”

“Not surprised,” said Porthos with a shiver. "Sounds ghastly."

“They realised I’d never be well enough to return to the trenches and decided that my skills would be of more use back here.” Aramis gulped down his whisky. “I’m still ashamed of my failings.”

“Don’t ever feel that way,” said Athos in a solemn voice. “I prayed to get out of there every minute of every day. I’d have grabbed any opportunity to come home.”

“Me too,” said Porthos. “You mustn’t think badly of yourself because you had the chance to escape hell. You suffered enough.”

“I still do,” said Aramis.

“We all do,” said Porthos. “But this kind of talk isn’t cheering us up.”

“Actually, it helps.” Athos looked up suddenly. “To know that you’re not alone.”

It had been a pivotal day for so many reasons, thought Porthos. Without these two men he would not be here, as whole in body and sound of mind as he could ever hope to be under the circumstances. If the future held nothing more than this then he would be content, but refilling their glasses, he drank one more silent toast: a prayer that he and Athos be given the chance of happiness they deserved.


	10. Chapter 10

Athos had always been a level headed man, but those two kisses had sent him on a see saw of highs and lows.

That evening, he moved his belongings back into his old room and was making up the bed, which had been pushed against the window, when Porthos came to find him.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he said as he helped him tuck the sheet in.

"You know what I’m doing," said Athos, looking up at him. "At least this way we'll find it easier to restrain ourselves."

"And what about the nightmares?" said Porthos. "Am I supposed to hobble all the way over here to comfort you in the middle of the night? Will you come to me when I need you?"

"We’ll learn to cope," said Athos. Bed sharing had been growing more and more common and was something else they needed to get over.

"I don't want to cope," said Porthos sulkily. "I don't want to be without you. I promise never to lay a finger on you."

"I wish I could say the same." Their eyes met over a sea of white cotton. "There are too many people here, Porthos."

"And if it was just us?" Porthos attempted to push the other beds to the far end of the room and almost fell over in the process.

“Stop that,” snapped Athos. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You can’t sleep that close to the window,” explained Porthos, sitting down on one of the single hospital beds. “It’s bad for your chest. You’ll get sick.”

“It’s summer.” Athos sank down next to him, reaching for his hand. “Stop working yourself into a lather over nothing.”

“I’m worked up over you,” said Porthos and then he repeated his words from earlier. “What if it was just us here?”

“You know it wouldn’t make any difference.” Athos leaned in, briefly pressing his forehead against Porthos’. “We can’t change the world we live in. I only wish we could.”

That first night alone was dreadful. Athos was used to Porthos talking him to sleep: to the comforting sound of his breathing. Wracked with nightmares, he was intermittently back on the front, or locked in a soundless, sightless world at Netley. His first instinct was to run for Porthos, but that must never happen. He wanted him in so many ways, but, now that they’d kissed, sex was the main thing on his mind. He should have sown his wild oats when he was younger. Now here he was, a twenty six year old virgin with no chance of happiness.

“My coughing keeps him awake,” was his explanation whenever anyone asked why he’d taken to sleeping in a different room, and it was a sound enough reason that he was never pressed further on the matter. He and Porthos still spent every waking hour together. They couldn’t bear to be apart.

“I want you to know that I’m not getting used to this,” said Porthos after a fortnight had passed. “I don’t sleep as well, and I can see from the bags under those eyes that neither do you.” He then lowered his voice. “But I’m also not getting over you, so I reckon you made the right decision.”

They were sitting in the recreation room playing cards when Treville stormed in from another trip to London. Normally he came back from town in high spirits, having been wined and dined to within an inch of his life at the mess. Today was very different.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” asked Aramis from his seat at the desk.

Treville slammed a pile of letters down onto the card table. “These are the medical discharge papers for all the patients here.”

Athos glanced at Porthos. He knew how much his career in the army had meant to him.

“I saw it coming,” said Porthos with a shrug. “It’s not exactly a surprise.”

“You were a regular before the war,” ranted Treville. “And a highly respected one from all accounts. There’s every chance you’ll get back to full fitness eventually.”

“Eventually being the operative word, sir,” said Porthos.

“The country has no need for soldiers and can’t afford to pay their wages.” Aramis looked around at the captain. “It’ll be you and me for the chop soon enough.” 

Treville paced the room. “Money is the next problem. The patients are no longer the responsibility of the army and so they’ll not be funding their keep. Nor will they be paying for the auxiliary staff or any of the nurses who are non military personnel. Those in the Medical Corps and the QA will either be posted elsewhere, or receive their discharge papers.”

Silence fell like a heavy pall.

“What you’re saying is that this place is officially closed down,” said Porthos. “So, where do we go now?”

“Good question,” said Treville, rubbing at tired eyes. “Good question indeed. I wish I knew the answer. I must take these letters to the other chaps and pass on the bad news.”

Athos wished he was from one of those monied backgrounds that Aramis had spoken of before. A minor title was of little use when it came with a pittance of an inheritance.

“I have enough to keep the house running,” he said, “but not enough to pay wages. I wonder what it would cost to set this place up as a private rehabilitation home?”

“I can’t make head nor tail of you, mon ami,” said Aramis. “Four months ago you wanted rid of us all, and now you can’t bear to see us go.”

Athos looked thoughtfully at him as the seed of a plan began to germinate. “Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart. You’re closer to Anne Bourbon than I am. Can you contact her and ask her to come over tomorrow morning?”

“Of course. I’ll send Jacques over on his bicycle with a message,” said Aramis. “But why?”

“Business,” said Athos and then he smirked. “And by that, I mean none of yours.”

He had a plan which could help finance a short reprieve for the convalescence home, and with this in mind, he wandered around the downstairs rooms, eyeing the walls speculatively, with Porthos limping along beside him.

“This isn’t about me, is it?” the big man said in a gruff voice.

Athos placed an arm around his shoulder and together they looked up at one of the grimy landscapes. “Everything’s about you,” he said under his breath. “But no. You’ll always have a home here. I simply hate the idea of the other chaps being treated like rubbish, and if I can do something about it then I will.” 

“You,” said Porthos, “are a treasure, and I’d kiss you right now if I could.”

The look in those warm brown eyes was heart melting and Athos knew then that this wasn't an infatuation. He was in love with Porthos and for the first time in his life he felt free. “I don’t know about me,” he said with a shy smile, “but let’s get the catalogues from the library and see if some of these paintings are considered treasures. I hate them all and I can’t think of a better reason to dispose of them.”

Neither of them being the slightest bit interested in fine art, they decided, after hours of thumbing through books, that they may as well sell the lot.

“How do you fancy a trip up to London tomorrow?” said Athos.

Pothos beamed at him. “As long as we see the sights as well as the auction houses then I’m game.”

Athos slept better that night than he had done in weeks, and woke the next morning full of purpose. When Anne rolled up first thing, he was waiting at the door ready to requisition her motor car.

“May I borrow the Rolls Royce?” he asked with a brotherly smile. “Porthos and I need to pop up to town.”

“But how am I supposed to get home?” Anne asked. "You really must get a telephone installed here."

“Malling can run to the station and fetch Serge,” said Athos. “He’ll take you in the trap.”

“Or I could drive the Crossley over here, your Ladyship,” suggested Malling.

“It’s all in a good cause,” said Aramis, who was encouraged by Athos' plan now that he'd been let in on the secret.

At his words any hint of frostiness immediately thawed. “I suppose it would be fine as long as Louis doesn’t find out.” Anne looked wary as Porthos and Athos leapt on her positive words and began to load the stack of hessian wrapped paintings into the rear seat of the car. “Athos, darling, you do know how to drive a motor, don’t you?”

“I was in command of an entire cavalry regiment by the end of the war,” replied Athos, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m not quite the incompetent you think I am.”

“Well, if you’re certain,” she said dubiously.

“Porthos, get in,” said Athos, climbing behind the wheel. “Malling, start her up,” he instructed, adding in an undertone, “and then tell me which pedals do what.”


	11. Chapter 11

Aramis stood with his hands in his pockets, watching on enviously as the chauffeur cranked the handle and the engine roared into life. He'd give anything for a trip to London--tea at the Ritz, dancing in the new clubs that were springing up everywhere--but he'd never leave his patients. They may not be his for much longer.

"Bye for now," yelled Athos, raising a hand in farewell. "See you tomorrow."

With the most dreadful crunching of gears, the motor car bunny hopped down the drive, eventually picking up speed--too much speed perhaps--as it neared the road.

Aramis and Malling exchanged a worried glance, neither of them certain whether the two men would make it safely to London and back. The car was definitely at risk.

Anne stood with her hands on her hips, staring into the distance, a look of absolute horror on her face. "That little shit," she said in disbelief. "He lied to me about being able to drive. I'm going to fucking kill him if I ever see him alive again, which I very much doubt."

Amazed at hearing this kind of foul language coming from such an elegant member of the the upper classes, Aramis stared at her in shock and then he began to chuckle. This soon turned into roars of side splitting hysterics as he laughed like he hadn't done in years.

"He didn't technically lie," he gasped, bending over double and wiping the tears away.

Anne grinned at him. "I apologise for forgetting myself. With Tom and Ollie's parents dead and only the servants here to look after them, we never showed much decorum."

"Ollie?" asked Aramis.

"Athos was Olivier until his father died, when he took over the family name. That was when he changed." Anne looked thoughtful. "He reminded me so much of the old Ollie just then. I suppose that's why I said it."

"And the boys lived here alone?" said Aramis horrified. "How old were they?"

"Thirteen and fourteen," said Anne. "There was a great uncle somewhere who was officially their guardian, but he wasn't interested." She looked rather surprised at Aramis' reaction. "It wasn't a problem. They were at school most of the time, and they weren't close to their parents. Are any of us?"

Aramis couldn't imagine life without the tight knit bindings of his family to rely on. They'd suffered their own tragedies--his eldest sister was now a widow with a young family, and they'd lost two cousins in France--but the comfort of knowing that his father and mother were there for him was the reason Aramis had pulled through the despair and returned to his right mind.

"I'm a lucky man," he said, without going into detail. "Would you like to join me on my rounds and meet some of the patients? They're a lovely bunch of fellows. I only hope we can keep this place open for as long as they need us."

"I'd like that very much indeed," said Anne, her eyes twinkling. "I promise to be on my best behavior and keep my bad language in check."

Despite her distinguished title, she turned out to be a pragmatic soul and as down to earth as they come, chatting away to all the soldiers and falling naturally into a friendship with Constance, despite their different backgrounds. 

"What we want to do is hold a fundraiser here," said Anne as she helped clear the tea cups and lunch plates from the rec room tables. "But we need music. Can any of you boys play?"

"D'Artagnan's wonderful on the piano," said Constance.

The young man looked shyly up at them. "I play a bit."

"More than a bit," said Constance with her arms folded. "Show them, please."

With an air of embarrassment, d'Artagnan wheeled himself over to the piano in his cumbersome chair and then lifted the lid. Cracking his knuckles, he settled in and then, astonishingly, began to perform a most beautiful classical piece from memory.

"That was brilliant," said Aramis, as the entire room erupted into a round of applause. "Encore."

"What would you like to hear?" asked d'Artagnan. "I play by ear and sight so I know a lot."

"That Chopin you played me was nice," said Constance.

"But something we could dance to would be better," added Anne.

Forlorn for a moment, d'Artagnan hung his head, and Aramis knew the young man was mourning his lost movement. Needing to buck him up, Aramis thought about the pre war dances he'd been to. "Do you know any Ragtime songs?" he asked.

D'Artagnan turned to look at him. "A few," he said, visibly brightening as he extended his fingers above the keys. 

All of a sudden he launched into the most wonderful syncopated music and Aramis turned to Anne. "Care to one-step?" he asked.

"I believe we call it the Fox Trot now," replied Anne as she took his hand and they danced around the recreation room.

The day was a happy one, the biggest surprise of all occurring when the rather dour Captain Treville joined d'Artagnan at the piano and the pair of them proceeded to rattle off duet after duet, all of them lively and danceable.

"Who needs London to have fun," proclaimed Aramis, when the electric lights were switched on and they realised that the whole household had been so wrapped up in the spontaneous entertainment that an entire day had passed by.

"London is tiring and I've spent far too much time there recently." Treville stood up and yawned. "I'm opting for an early night."

"Without anything to eat?" asked Aramis in concern. Treville looked pale with exhaustion. Their uncertain future was weighing him down.

"I'm far too shattered for food," admitted the captain. "Goodnight, ladies. Goodnight, gentlemen. Thank you for an enjoyable afternoon."

After Treville had taken his leave of them, Anne looked at Aramis in consternation. "I must go too. My husband will be wondering where I am. Thank heavens Malling brought the Crossley over." She pecked Aramis on the cheek. "Tell that beast of a friend of mine to bring the Rolls back as soon as he's done with it, preferably in one piece."

"I will," said Aramis and he watched her go, wondering how he could keep making the same foolish mistake, time and time again.


	12. Chapter 12

"You lied," said Porthos in astonishment, impressed beyond belief despite the fact his life was in jeopardy. "You told her you could drive."

"I _am_ driving." Athos smirked as he crunched through the gears.

"You're doing something," said Porthos dubiously. "But I'm not sure quite what it is."

"I'm learning," said Athos. "Besides, strictly speaking I told Anne I commanded a regiment. I never mentioned motor cars."

"Have you driven before?"

"I stole the colonel's staff car once, though it doesn't really count as I was blind drunk at the time."

Porthos loved this new, rather wicked side of Athos that was slowly being revealed to him. "You're a bad lad," he said with a grin.

"Nothing compared to you, I'm sure," said Athos. "Now look in the glove box and see if we have any maps. I have no idea how to get to London by road. We always used the trains when I was young." 

With Athos getting used to the controls, Porthos played navigator, folding the paper and following the route with his finger. Sensing freedom for the first time in years, he laughed with unmitigated joy. 

Athos joined in. "Shall I sell the house and buy one of these?" he said. "We can live on the open road."

"How about a gypsy caravan?" chuckled Porthos in a reference to his reading lessons.

They stopped for an early lunch at a tiny village pub, eating doorstop bread with hunks of cheese and washing the lot down with a pint of beer.

No one looked at Porthos strangely, or remarked on the colour of his skin and he wondered whether it was the kindness of country folk, or the self assured nature of Athos that made them behave that way. The man could be rigidly aloof at times, but it gave him an edge over the rest.

Sitting at the end of the beer garden and watching the stream trickle past was idyllic, but it wouldn't get the stack of paintings sold, and unwillingly the two men returned to the car.

Another hour of motoring saw them enter the suburbs, and just a little later on Athos was pulling into an easy parking space outside Sotheby's. 

It was amazing how much the upper classes were fawned over, thought Porthos. At first sight of a Rolls Royce, the manager of the auction house was charging out to greet them, porters scurrying around carrying armfuls of paintings inside to be valued.

"My business partner, Mr Vallon and I are setting up a new venture. These pictures are surplus to requirements," explained Athos, "and we'd like you to sell the lot."

"We'll be very happy to do so," said the manager, wringing his hands with excitement, an obsequious look on his face. "The three Stubbs are outstanding pieces and must go into a specialist auction. The others will do extremely well in our next fine arts sale."

The estimated figure he mentioned was one Porthos found hard to comprehend. "Who've thought a couple of pictures could make you a rich man?" he muttered as they left the building.

"Hardly rich," said Athos who came from a different world. "But enough to keep the place up and running for a while." His eyes lit up. "Still, let's throw caution to the wind and spend some of it in advance."

Porthos quickly grew addicted to Athos' sudden burst of enthusiasm. Shopping sprees were a new concept to him and having had every dimension measured ten times over, his arms were soon laden with shirts, shoes and two suits from the off the rack section.

"I feel like a kept man," he laughed.

"Thank Mr Stubbs, whomever he was, for keeping us both." Athos was carrying just as many bags and his smile was infectious. "We'll go back to my club, get changed and go out on the tiles. How does that sound to you?"

"Bloody marvellous," said Porthos. "Though I won't be needing my dancing shoes.

"Nor will I then," said Athos and the look he gave Porthos made it perfectly clear with whom he wanted to dance.

Today had been about friendship and fun more than flirting, and the sudden switch of mood made Porthos shiver with anticipation. They could do this without arousing suspicion. Just a couple of soldiers back from the war, having a celebratory evening together.

Athos' gentleman's club was on a small backstreet in Mayfair. The stuffy atmosphere instantly put Porthos at a disadvantage and as he glanced through into the lounge and saw nothing but pipe smoking old men he wanted to tug Athos by the sleeve and beg to return to the safety of the Manor.

"Good afternoon, Gardner," said Athos. "My friend and I are staying up in town for the night on business and would like a room."

The man stared down the slope of his aquiline nose and looked Porthos up and down. Even the crutches and uniform did little to soften his demeanour. "I'm afraid we have none available, your Lordship."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Athos, but his smile was already turning to a frown and Porthos could see the light beginning to dawn as he leant in across the mahogany desk. "How dare you?" he said in a controlled manner. "This man has sacrificed everything for our country. What have you ever done that could even hope to compete?" 

Gardner's supercilious attitude began to fade as he ran a finger down the pages of his register. "My mistake. It seems we have a room after all."

"We wouldn't stay there if it were gold plated with free champagne on tap," said Athos, storming out of the door. "Cancel my membership. I won't be coming here again."

"Don't make a thing of it," said Porthos, struggling to keep up. He hated seeing Athos so angry, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "You going to let me have a turn at driving on the way home?"

Athos smiled at him. "I will, but we're not going back just yet. I promised you dinner and dancing."

"Without the dancing," corrected Porthos with a grin, but inside he wasn't feeling so cheerful. "To be honest, Athos, I'd rather just go back to the Manor." He wasn't up to more discrimination today. Still fragile from his wounds, he'd also grown used to being one of the lads and had forgotten what a humiliating an experience it was to be on the receiving end of such bigotry.

The arm around his shoulder was a friendly gesture, the fingers kneading at his neck more intimate than that. 

"We’ll try one place and then we'll give up," said Athos who was all too persuasive when his eyes crinkled up with laughter lines.

"Fair enough," said Porthos. "But I have to clear up one other thing before we go, all right?" Cocking his head to one side, he grinned at Athos. "Your Lordship? Really?"

Athos blushed to his roots. "It's a very minor title," he muttered. "Almost nonexistent."

Porthos' eyes widened with amusement at the situation. "Go on."

“Viscount Lafère,” muttered Athos, “but it’s ridiculous and I don’t use it unless I absolutely have to.”

Porthos had never seen anyone so uncomfortable. He laughed. “You’re a daft bugger,” he said affectionately. “You don’t want to be a major or a lord. What do you want?”

Athos didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared back at him and the look in his eyes was unfathomable. “Come on,” he said with a sudden grin. “Slide over and I’ll start the engine. Best way to learn to drive is in at the deep end.”

After ten hair raising minutes, getting the hang of the controls with his bad legs, Porthos had a new love in his life. Whooping with excitement, he negotiated the narrow streets, pulling into a space when Athos pointed one out.

“The Savoy,” he said, leaping out and passing Porthos his crutches from the back.

Porthos looked dubiously at the grand entrance of the hotel. 

“I’ve heard they’re much more forward thinking than my father’s old club,” said Athos, gazing at Porthos with those big hopeful eyes, and how could he say no to them? 

It seemed that Athos was right about the Savoy's progressive attitude, and within minutes they were booked into a twin room. With their bags delivered to the suite and a handsome tip paid to the porter, Porthos threw himself back on the bed and stared around him in amazement. “Athos, you’re a mad man.”

“We’ve lived through hell on earth for four years,” said Athos, sitting on the opposite bed, his elbows propped on knees, chin resting on laced hands. “I think we deserve to be spoilt, don’t you?”

Porthos could do nothing but nod in agreement. “I’ll even limp around and dance with you for this luxury,” he said.

Road smuts and general grubbiness now washed away in the huge enamel bathtub, they tried on their new evening dress, swilling down champagne and dancing together badly to imaginary music.

They were simply friends messing around, nothing more, Porthos promised himself, the threat of a prison sentence looming. But with Athos in his arms, even in fun, it was hard not to love everything about him.

“Shall we eat?” said Athos when they were both drunk and happy and Porthos was wishing this simple world of theirs would last forever. “I booked us a table whilst I was at reception.”

Overawed and slightly awkward, Porthos followed Athos down to the Grill. The restaurant was lavish and up to date in its elegance, like nothing he had ever seen before, over the top with regal colours and outlandish gilding and a band playing that were so loud he could hardly think. He wasn’t even the only black man here, though all the others were playing in the Savoy's ragtime orchestra.

He and Athos would not stand out from the crowd here, thought Porthos in amazement. Just two friends, out on the town.

“We could go to the theatre afterwards,” said Athos. “Or perhaps Dalton's?”

Dalton's club was infamous amongst returned servicemen. Renowned for flouting licensing laws and opening hours, it was notorious for being full of fast women to cheer up the broken soldiers. 

“Shall we see how smashed we get here first,” suggested Porthos. “Then make up our minds.”

"Good plan," smiled Athos.

Hours later, full up on fillet steaks and high on life and champagne, they took a taxi to Piccadilly and entered the basement club that smelt of tobacco, hashish and perfume. The sounds inside were raucous, the poor acoustics of the room melded drunken chatter and busy jazz music into an exciting fusion, and from just a step over the threshold Porthos was already hooked on this new world.

Here anything was allowed. Women, dressed in scandalously short skirts and covered in too much make up, led the young men off into the darker reaches of the club. Girls danced with girls, boys danced with boys and without hesitation Porthos held out a hand to Athos. "As far as anyone knows, it's just a bit of fun," he said into Athos' ear. "You're just feeling sorry for an injured mate."

"The last thing I'm feeling is sorry for you," replied Athos as the music slowed in tempo and they instinctively held each other closer.

It was a wonderful moment that ended all too quickly when Athos pulled away.

"We're forgetting ourselves," he said awkwardly. "We should go. This place has a reputation for being raided and I must return the car first thing."

"Athos!" shouted Porthos, collecting his crutches and hurrying after him as fast as he could manage, still quite drunk.

Athos was standing on the pavement lighting a cigarette from a pack he'd bought in the club. "Want one?" he said offering them to Porthos.

"Don't mind if I do," Porthos said, helping himself and then steadying Athos' shaking hand as he held the match.

"I'm sorry," said Athos, heaving in a lungful of smoke. "Everything about you has such a profound effect on me."

"I know," said Porthos. "Believe me, I understand." He laughed under his breath. 

"I wish we could simply be friends."

Athos was leaning on the wall, looking confused by life and, more than anything, Porthos wanted to kiss those troubles away. "But that won't ever happen,” he said. "And besides that, Athos, I don't want to be your friend. What we have is so much more important than that."


	13. Chapter 13

Athos was terrified. He'd let himself believe, for the last few hours, that he and Porthos could play at being lovers and then still be able to return to their real lives without repercussions, but it simply wasn't true. Laughing and drinking with the man was perfect, but the dancing had spiked those deep feelings all over again. If he wasn't so drunk he'd insist they drive home. As it stood, he was stuck. Going back to the Savoy and booking a second room would seem more than a trifle odd, especially after they'd been getting on so famously earlier when they were dining in the Grill.

Porthos leaned next to him, their cigarette smoke drifting idly upwards and mingling together. "Athos, I'm not going to force myself on you," he said in a low, worried voice.

Athos looked at him in horror. "God, I'd never think anything of the sort. You're a good man. A wonderful man. I..." His words failed him. How could he explain how frightened he was, how helplessly excited? How bloody innocent in all ways.

Porthos hailed a passing cab. "We'll go back to the hotel and we talk this through," he said. "It's the booze getting to you."

"It's you getting to me," muttered Athos as he climbed into the back of the Austin taxi.

Back in the safety of their room, there was still a bottle of Bollinger that was three quarters full and Porthos poured two glasses and handed one to Athos. "Nightcap," he said with a grin.

"Waste not, want not," replied Athos with a nervous smile.

"Attaboy." Porthos downed his in a gulp and then limped towards Athos, waiting for him to finish his drink and then taking him in his arms and enfolding him in a bear hug.

Athos shuddered with relief at being held this way. "If this goes any further then we'll be in serious trouble."

"We're in trouble already," said Porthos, his voice a deep rumble, "but this is enough for me. They can't prosecute a couple of blokes for having a hug."

"At least we'll always be friends," said Athos. He breathed in cigarette smoke and the exotic smells of Dalton's, but beneath that was Porthos, his scent earthy and masculine, a comfort to Athos when nothing else could soothe him.

"Yeah," said Porthos. "We'll find nice women then get married and have families. We'll visit each other once a month and forget we ever tore ourselves apart in this way."

It was this small speech that made Athos' mind up for him. If they were to be nothing but a vague romantic memory to each other, they may as well have something to remember. "Porthos," he said, looking upwards and inclining his head in that age old way.

Porthos stilled and everything paused. A second passed, two seconds, three, and then his mouth was on Athos' and they were kissing again. There was nothing romantic about it this time. This was neither soft nor sweet. It wasn't a promise of things to come; it was an intent, and Athos moaned into it, having never been kissed like this before.

They tumbled backwards onto the bed, linked by mouths, hands everywhere, coming up for air and then laughing again from sheer joy, the way they had the first time. Consumed by passion, Athos knew that nothing else but Porthos would ever matter. He would not marry. He was not the marrying kind.

Clothing was shed, piece by piece and when Athos pushed Porthos' trousers down to his knees the man looked away embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry I'm such an ugly sight," he said and Athos pressed him into the mattress and leant over him.

"You're perfect," he said fervently. "Every inch of you is perfect to me."

"God." Porthos held his face and kissed him again and again and again. "I couldn't want anyone more." His voice decreased in volume to a bare whisper. "I couldn't love anyone more."

"Nor I," answered Athos. "This is it for me." His heart was a pounding drum beat inside his head. He'd thought that the sex would be overwhelming to him, but this declaration between them was so much more. "I've never been to bed with anyone," he confessed.

"I know," said Porthos softly as they turned onto their sides, both of them stripped down to their underwear, raw and frightened yet still frantically happy. Tilting his head, he took Athos' mouth again, licking into him with slow sweeps of tongue, one hand resting on Athos' side, the other an inch from from his cock. "I'm glad I'm your first."

Athos edged closer until they came into full contact. He was so dreadfully aroused and tried to muster every offputting thought, but there was nothing in the universe that could put him off this. Porthos carefully stripped him of vest and pants until he was lying there, trembling with excitement, his cock pressed taut to his belly.

"You're cold," said Porthos as he undressed. "Get into bed."

His shivers were from passion rather than temperature, but Athos could think of nothing better than to be naked with Porthos under the covers. It was all he'd been thinking of since their first kiss.

Porthos climbed into Athos' outstretched arms and they clung together, bare and hard. 

"This is everything," murmured Porthos, echoing Athos' thoughts.

They kissed again, mouths locked, bodies moving restlessly and all Athos' apprehensions about the mechanics of sex between two men melted away. Drawn on a wave of arousal, his hips bucked and he came hard, Porthos watching him with eyes wide, urging him on and then giving in to his own pleasure with a gasp and a sigh of delight. It was over too soon, but that didn't stop it from being a delight.

Afterwards they held each other, laughing and talking the way they had done when they were friends, but now there was kissing thrown in, sweet and determined, and Athos forced himself to stay awake to enjoy every moment of being with this wonderful man.

"I'd thought you were a brother to me," he said. "I couldn’t have been more wrong."

"I'm all yours," said Porthos as he sank into a deep sleep and Athos followed him there.

He awoke to find Porthos gone from the bed, the splashing sounds from the bathroom a clue as to his whereabouts. He discovered him lounging in the tub and bent over to kiss him good morning before turning his attention to more urgent matters.

Watching Athos relieve himself, Porthos called him over as soon as the toilet flushed. "Come here. Bathe with me."

"What time is it?" asked Athos as he climbed in and reclined, with a sigh of animal pleasure, into Porthos' arms.

"If we were in the country the cocks would still be crowing."

A big hand wrapped around Athos' prick and he lay back, tucking his head into the side of Porthos' neck.

"And yours is definitely crowing." 

Porthos may have been laughing at him, but his voice was hot with need as he soaped his fist and then palmed Athos' erection once more.

"Yours too." Athos shifted from side to side and could feel the hard length slot in between his bum cheeks.

There seemed nothing more natural than this to Athos, and with the drays rumbling through the streets and the costermongers making their deliveries, their barrows scraping along the narrow alleyways, he inclined his head and reached for Porthos' mouth, as happy with his lot as any man could ever hope to be.

"What time do we have to be out of here?" asked Porthos in between kisses.

"We have until lunchtime at least," gasped Athos as Porthos pushed him to new highs.

"Then let's go back to bed for an hour or two, eh?"

With those fingers working magic and teeth nipping at the back of his neck, Athos was almost insensate, a scant part of him aware enough to stand, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, wanton and flushed with desire.

"Look at us." Porthos stood behind him, a hand reaching around to cup Athos' balls. "We're beautiful together," he said and Athos hummed in agreement, shocked at how carefree and loved he appeared. Gone was that haunted, pinched expression that had been etched into his face since Tom's death.

"Bed," insisted Porthos. "I want to kiss every inch of you."

Athos climbed out of the tub and offered himself as a prop for Porthos to lean on.

"One day I'll be fit and able to show you a proper good time," said Porthos as he used Athos as a crutch, allowing himself to fall onto the mattress.

Athos couldn't reply, not with Porthos' mouth moving over his chest, tongue teasing each nipple, the kisses drifting downwards, down lower, dipping into his navel and then following the line of hair. "Oh fuck," he breathed as Porthos licked at his cock. "Oh, Jesus, fuck."

Porthos grinned up at him. "You like?"

"I like," gasped Athos, his fingers taking through Porthos' hair. "I like very much. Could you do it again?"

"Always so polite," laughed Porthos. "Even when you're pretending to be a bastard."

Athos would have complained at this if he'd still possessed the power of speech. Instead, he was being engulfed in warmth and wetness, his balls tightening, his mind somewhere off in the stratosphere as Porthos sucked him with slow deliberation.

"Can I have a turn?" he asked, scrambling to move between Porthos' thighs.

"Not likely to say no, am I?" said his big, brash, cheeky man.

Athos explored. Porthos was long and thick, uncut in contrast to him, and for a while Athos played with that hood of skin, sliding it, up and down, over the head of his cock which was glossy with excitement. Carrying on with this, Athos licked each heavy ball, taking them into his mouth one at a time and testing their spongy softness with his tongue. He turned his attention to the shaft, dotting it with kisses and then nervously taking the whole knob into his mouth, tasting the sweetness that seeped out. 

"Athos, fuck yes, yes." Porthos thrashed suddenly from side to side, and with that beautiful cock in his mouth, Athos understood love and power, control and desire and how they all intermingled. Sucking at Porthos, he slipped a hand down between his own thighs and began to masturbate, shame a thing of the past as he brought them both to the edge of pleasure, over and over again.

"Kneel over my face," said Porthos. "I want you in my mouth when I'm in yours."

As Athos positioned himself ready, Porthos' tongue slid sinuous and hot from balls to arse and he cried out in delight.

"In my mouth," demanded Porthos again, his voice a rumble of need.

Instead of fucking his own fist, Athos fucked Porthos' face, leaning forward to take as much of Porthos in as he could manage and sucking greedily at him. The man doing this--sucking cock, mewling in delight and bucking his hips--this man was not him. This man was the person he had only ever dreamed of being.

They played together for a long time, neither wanting it to be over, but an end was inevitable and when it all became too much, Athos came, gulping down the answering jet of semen and tasting it tart and salty on his tongue.

They lay together afterwards, Athos at peace with the world and content to listen to the steadying sound of Porthos breathing.

"You haven't said a word," said Porthos. "You aren't upset by what we just got up to, are you?"

Athos kissed the soft skin at the junction of Porthos' neck and shoulder. "On the contrary, I've never been this happy in my entire life." But now it was over and he had to come to terms with it.

"We could still..." Porthos left the sentence unfinished. "We could share a room again?"

"And have Fleur or Constance find us in flagrante delicto?" said Athos. "I think not."

"They've seen us in bed together." Porthos held on tightly to Athos, refusing to let him go.

"They've seen us in bed as innocent friends." Athos turned his head to look at Porthos. "They've not seen us with our mouths around each other's cocks. Not quite the same, and you know it."

"I don't give a damn."

"You will when your name is in the newspaper and you're in the dock being sentenced to prison."

"Those people at the Manor are our friends," said Porthos. "Do you think so little of them?"

"No," replied Athos. "But I think so much of you and will keep you safe at all costs, even if it means we have to be apart. I love you and I'll not have you suffer because of me."

"I love you too," said Porthos and they shared a moment or two of kisses. "Suffering is not being with you."

"I know, but that's how things must be." Athos snatched one final kiss. "Now we must wash, pack, untidy the other bed so it looks as if it's been slept in and then go down for breakfast," he said, getting up with as much enthusiasm for the day as he could muster.

"Acting as if everything is normal," sighed Porthos.

"Everything _is_ normal," said Athos fervently. "Everything’s wonderful. I've had the best night of my life and I couldn't be a happier man." He strode naked towards the bathroom. "Hurry up and I'll let you drive all the way home."

After a breakfast of sausage, eggs, devilled kidneys and muffins, Porthos' spirits began to raise and he even laughed as Athos read out some of the cartoons in the newspaper. Athos was delighted to see this, and even more pleased when they were on the open road and Porthos was cheering with delight to be speeding down country lanes, the newly purchased goggles and cap protecting his face.

"This is the life," he shouted and Athos smiled, having already decided to waste a little more Stubbs money on a motor car. 

The lighthearted atmosphere changed immediately when they arrived back at the Manor to find it a very different place to the one they'd left. 

"Mother of God, no!" cried an exhausted looking Aramis when they barged in, full of the joys of spring. "I told them to lock the doors." He sank exhausted into one of the hall chairs. "I suppose it would do no good though. It's too late."

"Too late for what?" said Athos, his fear showing itself as anger. "Spit it out, Lieutenant."

"Captain Treville has come down with what looks awfully like Spanish flu."

"I thought that was finished with," said Athos, reeling in fear. It had been a truly terrifying epidemic that had killed millions. There had been three different bouts of, it but since the last attack had broken out after the Armistice Day celebrations, everyone had thought it was over.

"A new strain, I suppose," said Aramis. "A couple of the other boys are possibly showing symptoms and there are cases cropping up all over the country from what I can tell on the wireless." He rubbed his temples. "The captain is dreadfully sick. I honestly don't think he's going to make it through the day."


	14. Chapter 14

Aramis was torn. Part of him wanted to throw Porthos and Athos out and tell them to hide away somewhere safe, but they'd both been in close contact with the captain the day before yesterday when he'd been unusually fatigued and, with the benefit of hindsight, clearly sickening for something.

"I've set up the small drawing room as an isolation unit, so please stay away from there at all times," he said to the two men. "Especially you," he added, looking at Athos. "This variety of flu causes a severe respiratory infection and would play havoc on the lungs of a gas victim."

"You heard him," said Porthos, shoving Athos bodily towards the stairs. "Stay up there out of harm's way."

Aramis managed a smile for the first time all day. Their friendship was one of the few good things that had happened as a result of this devastating war. "And was your trip a success?"

Athos nodded. "In all ways," he replied with an unusually shy smile. "We should have enough money, after auction, to keep the Manor running for at least a year, barring disasters."

"Let's pray that we have some patients left to look after." Aramis didn't mean to sound so negative, but he was shattered. Once he'd realised that Captain Treville was suffering from the classic symptoms of the flu virus he'd sat with him all night, lifting him when he needed to cough and wrapping him in hot blankets to help with his fever. From his swift re-reading of all the medical journals, it was the only thing that seemed to help.

"Aramis!" cried Constance from the recreation room. "Come quickly. It's d'Artagnan."

Aramis ran like the wind. The boy was their mascot. He was brave and fun, talented in so many ways, and Aramis was damned if he'd let anything happen to him. He discovered, to his horror, the young man was practically passed out in his wheelchair. His breathing was laboured and his eyes were glassy with fever. 

"My head hurts, Mother," he moaned. "My head hurts so much."

"Let's get you into bed," said Aramis, pushing his chair through to the isolation ward. This flu was a nightmare the way it attacked so suddenly, the young and fit just as likely to succumb to it as the elderly, if not more so.

Porthos and Athos were watching from the lower reaches of the stairs and Aramis waved them away. Why were people so stupid, putting themselves unnecessarily at risk? Soldiers, who'd survived the trenches, thought themselves indestructible.

"He was fine this morning," said Constance, holding d'Artagnan's hand. "He was playing the piano and talking about how much he was looking forward to seeing his parents again next month. They've found someone to look after the farm and have booked their train tickets and guest house."

"Help me get him into bed," said Aramis with no time for small talk as they lifted the semiconscious young man onto the mattress. Undressing him to his underclothes, Aramis then took his temperature and listened to his chest. "Wrap him in hot blankets and put a cold compress on his forehead. Give him aspirin to bring down his fever."

There was nothing more they could do. If the patients survived this first phase, then the hot and cold baths seemed to lessen the likelihood of developing pneumonia. Or so this had proved in the first three phases of Spanish flu. This strain might turn out to be entirely different.

Aramis walked over to the end bed in the ward, fearful of what he might find. Treville was barely breathing and yet his chest was making the most dreadful rattling noises. His skin had a bluish tinge to it and as Aramis peeled back the covers to listen to his lungs the captain opened his eyes wide and staring sightless up at Aramis then launched into the most dreadful paroxysms of coughing.

"Easy now." Aramis helped him sit up and as he did so the man began coughing up a mixture of blood and sputum.

"I'll get some water and clean sheets," said Constance, bustling over to assist. "Therese just told me that Fleur is sick too. She's setting up a second isolation room for women."

The captain's coughing fit now over, Aramis laid him back down.

"What else can we do to help him?" said Constance. 

"Keep him clean and comfortable," said Aramis. There was no point in continuing the bathing treatment. It would be best to ease his pain with morphine and let him slip away peacefully.

In a rare moment to himself, he found somewhere private and sank to his knees, his crucifix clutched in his hand, praying to God to save them all from this disease and to give him the strength to carry on, but by morning, things were much worse. 

After a second night without sleep, Aramis was struggling. The situation was dire. Durand, Henry and Johnson had now come down with illness, as had Therese and the kitchen maid Teresa. There were more sick in the Manor than were in good health. He and Constance were stretched to capacity and Porthos and Athos, the healthiest in the house, were looking after the patients who had not fallen ill. Aramis would prefer his friends stay clear of danger, but there was simply no choice. The sound of Athos' constant dry cough, amongst the paroxysms of wet pneumonic outbursts, was a dreadful worry.

Aramis' concerns multiplied tenfold when he passed a bowl into a pair of hands behind him only to discover that they belonged to Lady Bourbon, dressed from head to toe in a white nursing gown.

"Anne, what on earth do you think you're doing here?" he asked, taking the dish from her and leading her into the hallway.

"I popped along to see if my car had survived the trip to London and Athos explained what had been happening. It sounds terrible."

"Athos," yelled Aramis at the top of voice, furious with the man for dragging Anne into this situation and putting her in danger also.

"What?" snapped Athos, appearing from the doorway of the recreation room. "I'm busy."

"How dare you let Lady Bourbon in here. You know we're under quarantine," snapped Aramis, pacing the floor with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

"I didn't let her do anything," replied Athos coldly. "She offered to help us, and as she pointed out, she's been here a lot over the past few days so has already been exposed. Now if you'll excuse me I have work to do." Without waiting for a reply, Athos returned to this duties.

Anne was glaring at Aramis and he felt the heavy weight of her displeasure. "I would have slept a lot easier if you'd stayed away from here," he muttered in explanation.

"As if you've been getting any sleep," she replied with a withering look. "Now show me in what way I can be of most help."

Rather than being a hindrance, as Aramis had rather suspected she might be, Anne turned out to be a highly useful and well disciplined nurse, not at all squeamish and taking to the job as if she'd been born to do it. She was also happy enough to work in the kitchens, helping Athos and Porthos prepare basic meals for those who wanted them and porridge for the flu patients who were well enough to take a little food.

A week passed by, seeming more like a year, and Aramis found it raised his spirits to hear Anne and Athos bickering over the vegetables with Porthos trying to smooth the waters. It was a semblance of normality in a chaotic and dreadful world.

Snatching the opportunity for a break, he nipped outside to find Porthos hanging the newly boiled and mangled sheets on the washing line.

"You look knackered, mate," said Porthos. "You need a lie down."

"I am shattered," admitted Aramis, the cigarette falling from his fingers as he slumped to one side.

"Aramis!" The washing now abandoned on the ground, Porthos hurried over as quickly as he could make it, just in time to catch Aramis before he collapsed.

"I'll be fine in a minute," mumbled Aramis. He was dizzy from lack of sleep and not enough food. That was the problem.

"I can't get you inside with my crutches," said Porthos. "Bugger these useless legs of mine. Athos! Constance! Anne!"

The last three words were so loud they were deafening and caused Aramis' head to split open in agony. "Please," he begged. "Be quiet. Let me rest a minute. Just very tired."

"You're sick, Aramis," said Athos in his strictest officer's voice. "Stop being a martyr and let us look after you."

Lifted into a chair, he was then wheeled through into the house and all he could think of was the burning cigarette and the wet sheet tangled on the grass. There might be a fire and the sheet would have to be washed again. It was all his fault. 

He was carried into bed then undressed like a child and afterwards, on the brink of consciousness, he looked up at familiar faces. "I'll have five minutes kip and then I'll be up and raring to go," he said, crying out as burning hot sheets were wrapped around him and he was loaded with blankets.

"Sure you will," said Porthos with a placatory smile. "You rest now, my friend. We'll take care of everything."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a character death in this chapter.

Never usually one to fall victim to panic, Porthos found himself uncomfortably close to hysteria. With just four of them well enough to attend the sick, one with diseased lungs and another still partially crippled, they were in deep trouble.

Stealing five minutes away from their duties, they sat around the kitchen table, drinking tea and eyeing each other warily, no one wanting to be the first to reveal their fears.

"So, what do we do now?" asked Porthos, chewing at a fingernail. Aramis was more than a doctor to him. He was his friend. His rock.

"We get on with things," said Constance pragmatically. "What else can we do?"

"How's Treville?" asked Athos.

They'd been expecting him to die for days and his fight for survival was becoming a barometer for them all.

"He's breathing much easier now," said Constance. "There's been no more coughing up of blood, but he's still unconscious and getting weaker. The good news is that d'Artagnan's on the mend." She visibly brightened. "I was about to telegraph his parents. I'm so glad I didn't worry them unnecessarily."

"That's excellent," said Anne with a smile. "Therese and Fleur are also much improved."

"Let's get a move on then," smiled Constance, pushing past her exhaustion. "There are bedpans to empty and nursing to be done."

"As acting CO, I'm promoting you to doctor," smirked Athos. "So get Anne to do the sluice work and you can wear the white coat and stethoscope."

Constance nudged him with an elbow. "If only," she said with feeling. "But, as you know, I'm a woman and not smart enough for such things."

"You bloody well are," said Porthos. "You're far more competent than most doctors I've met." He smiled at her. "Now unless you've got any other jobs for us to do, Athos and I have dinner to prepare."

"You carry on in the kitchen, boys," said Constance, clearly enjoying the reversal of situation.

His moment of panic now subsiding, Porthos looked to the positive. At very least he always enjoyed these quiet domestic times they shared. The mutton was already stewing and whilst Athos checked to see how it was doing, Porthos gathered a selection of vegetables from the pantry. They switched on the wireless in time to hear the end of a news broadcast and rather wished they hadn't. It was all doom and gloom; the epidemic was still spreading and the country was in dire straits financially. Porthos was mighty glad when the talk stopped and the music took over.

"So, will we be all right?" he asked as they sat at the scarred pine table, chopping vegetables. Thank goodness for Serge and Malling who kept the Manor supplied with deliveries of fresh produce. Without them they'd be living off gruel.

"No one's died," smirked Athos, covering his mouth with a handkerchief as he coughed. "I take that as a positive sign."

No one's died _yet_ , thought Porthos as Athos coughed some more and then returned to slicing a pile of carrots. "Will you come to bed with me tonight?" he asked in an undertone. It was all he'd been thinking about for the past hour and it had nothing to do with sex. He wanted Athos in his arms. He'd never needed him more, and it was ridiculous that they had to stay at opposite ends of an empty wing.

"You know we can't risk it," said Athos, his eyes locked firmly on the growing pile of carrots. "Shall I peel some swedes to go with these?"

"I don't give a damn about vegetables," growled Porthos. "Athos, if we don't take a risk now then we might never get another chance."

"We're fine," said Athos. "We'll both be fine."

"We're both miserable." Porthos slammed his knife down on the board and went to pour a glass of water. "And you want us to stay that way."

"I don't." Athos looked up at him, his eyes full of worry and love. "But I honestly can't see an alternative."

On his way back to the table, Porthos leant in close over Athos' shoulder. The music on the radio was a bright ragtime number and all he could think about was that one evening where they'd allowed themselves some happiness. "I don't need to make love to you," he murmured. "I just need you back in my arms where you belong."

If Athos turned his head a few degrees to the right they'd be able to kiss. Instead, there were footsteps echoing on the tiled floor and Porthos sprang back, almost falling over in the process. He caught himself at the last minute, hanging on to the kitchen sink for support.

"You two look as if you've lost a pound and found sixpence," laughed Anne, though anyone with decent observational skills could see that she was weighed down by worries.

"Just hoping there'll be enough veg to go round," said Porthos. 

"It'll have to do for one more," said Anne with a more genuine smile this time that animated her porcelain face. "Captain Treville is awake and, according to him, he's hungry enough to eat a horse."

"I'll go shoot one immediately," said Porthos with a massive sigh of relief. The captain was the oldest man here. He was also their first patient and had been at death's door for nearing a fortnight. If he could recover, then so could anyone.

"I think the mutton casserole will do fine," said Anne. "I'll take over kitchen duties. The captain would like a word with you both. You can bring him a cup of tea."

On their way through the men's ward, Porthos risked a glance at Aramis' bed. The man was out cold, heaped with blankets and still shivering violently. Constance sat next to him, holding a compress to his forehead. 

D'Artagnan, in contrast, was leaning on his pillows and reading the newspaper.

"Anything interesting happening in the world?" asked Athos as they passed by.

"Same old stuff," said the young man with a smile. "At least no one's started another war yet."

"If they do, I'll be boycotting it," replied Athos.

Porthos was amazed to find the captain not just awake, but sitting up in bed. "Captain Treville," he said. "You don't know how good it is to see you looking so much better."

The man was as pale as a ghost and painfully thin, but he was smiling. "A cup of tea!" he yelped with excitement, almost snatching it out of Porthos' hand.

"Steady, sir," said Porthos as the liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim. "There's plenty more where that came from. We might even rustle up a biscuit later. Athos here has been reading Fleur's recipe books and learning how to bake."

"So far, I'm better at the reading part," smirked Athos.

"Sister Bonacieux says you've both been doing a sterling job," said Treville. "I wanted to thank you personally. I hear you've all had a rough time of it."

"We're coping well," said Athos. "It's been enlightening."

"Seeing how the other half lives." Porthos chuckled and received a warning glance from Athos. "We'll get you all better if it kills us."

"Try not to go that far, Porthos," said Treville, savouring his tea as if it were nectar.

Over the course of the next few days, it felt as if they'd turned a corner. Porthos found himself whistling as he got washed and dressed in the mornings and he no longer dreaded waking up from his short rest breaks. The one thing he still regretted was not having Athos in bed beside him, but that was a moot point seeing as one of them always had to be on duty at present.

Aramis was still very sick, lucid only for short moments, his cough so bad that it was painful to hear, but his fever was down and he was showing signs of improvement. Treville and d'Artagnan were coming along rapidly and Henry and Teresa were free of infection and well enough to be away from the sick rooms. 

Porthos was clearing breakfast trays when there was an agitated cry from the men's ward. Hurrying as fast as he could on a single crutch he discovered Athos leaning over d'Artagnan's bed.

"Get Constance now," he said in a low voice.

"What's-?" began Porthos, but Athos interrupted him.

"Just do it," he said in a hushed voice.

Porthos felt sick. He couldn't see the young man properly, with Athos shielding his body, but there was a stillness about him that was unnerving. He found Constance in the women's ward and explained the situation in an undertone.

"What's the matter with him?" she said as they charged through the hallway.

It was apparent, as soon as they approached his bedside, that something was dreadfully wrong. Constance began work immediately trying to revive the young man, but Athos gently pulled her away as Porthos covered the body with a sheet.

"He died in his sleep, Constance," Athos said. "There was nothing any of us could have done."

"I should have been checking on him." Constance scrubbed angrily at her eyes. "He'd been through so much and I didn't look after him."

Porthos was horrified. "But he was on the mend." How could this have happened when the boy was almost well? He stared down at the body of d'Artagnan and then risked a glance at Aramis who was another still form, the only sign of life being the harsh rattle of his breath. 

"You did everything you could." Anne was here now, consoling Constance and leading her away from the bedside.

"What do we do?" asked Porthos in distress. By the end of the war, Athos had been in command of a regiment in Flanders. He should know how to manage these things, but he looked just as lost and helpless as the rest.

"We cleared out the out ice house to use as a mortuary when we first arrived here," said Treville, taking control of the situation. "Take the body there and then send word to the local doctor. He'll make arrangements. You'll also need to telegraph d'Artagnan's parents."

The next few hours passed by in a daze. They were mostly silent with each other, occasionally resorting to frenzied shouting matches.

"I can't do this," raged Constance as the horse drawn ambulance carted off d'Artagnan's body to take him home for burial. "I'm leaving."

"You'll stay," said Athos in a calm voice. "You're a Queen Alexandra nurse and you're not the type of person to walk away from here and leave the rest of your patients to die."

"What's the point?" said Constance, temper turning to listlessness. "They'll die anyway."

"D'Artagnan's heart gave out. It had nothing to do with you," said Athos. "Your care was exemplary, Constance. You're exceptional at what you do."

Athos had a detached, almost cold air about him at times, thought Porthos, but there was something in his manner that made others believe in him and follow orders. His words were a quiet battle cry. Porthos could see the inner war Constance was waging, that need to escape pitched against her desire to help the sick, but knowing her kindly nature he was never in doubt of the outcome.

"I'll stay for the time being," said Constance and, shoulder to shoulder, she and Anne returned to their duties.

Hours later, the scent of smoke led Porthos to the stable block where he found Athos, hidden away from the world, leaning against an outside wall with one of Aramis' cigarettes dangling unwanted from his fingers. His cheeks were stained with tears.

Porthos took the cigarette and stubbed it out in the long grass. "Bad habit to pick up with a nasty cough like yours." He held out his arms. "Come here."

Athos fell into him gratefully, wrapping himself around, nuzzling into the crook of his neck to seek comfort.

"Everything's all right. We'll be fine," soothed Porthos and when they kissed it was deep and sweet, full of a different kind of longing from usual. A need for better days.


	16. Chapter 16

Fleur was the next to pass away and then Johnson. Both of them showing signs of improvement. Both of them here one minute and gone the next. Men and women in the prime of their life, not even given a fair chance to prepare for death.

Once again, Athos felt bitterly angry at the world, the way he had done when Tom was taken from him in a war that had no purpose to it and no end result other than the slaughter of millions of innocent men. Constance battled on, bustling around the house in her usual no nonsense manner, but it was clear she felt responsible and even Athos, with his capability for logic, and Porthos, with his great heart, could not talk her out of her guilt. She was determined that the fault lay with her.

"Did Constance love d'Artagnan?" Athos asked Anne when they were preparing breakfast, a fortnight after the young man's death.

She turned to look at him, apparently shocked that he was asking this question. Athos supposed her reaction wasn’t unexpected. He'd never been at ease with emotions in the past and was certainly not the type to speak of such things.

"She saw something in him," replied Anne. "She admired his strength of spirit."

"Do you see something in Aramis?" Athos asked cautiously.

"I see a sick young man," she answered, her cheeks reddening. "But,” she conceded, “he does remind me very much of Tom."

"I know," agreed Athos. The similarities were quite striking, not in looks so much but certainly in character. They both had this carefree yet caring attitude about them, mercurial and full of energy. 

"Still, I made my choice." Anne sighed. "I married Louis."

"I'm surprised he hasn't sent Malling round here to chauffeur you home."

Anne laughed. "Did I not tell you? As soon as there was a hint of this latest epidemic he packed off to the Bourbon summer residence in the Dordogne. Told me to follow him as long as there was no possibility I might be infected."

"Your husband is a prick," said Athos with feeling. He'd always hated the little squirt. "Why does he assume he'll be safe from flu over there?"

"There's no influenza in France, Athos." Anne smiled. "At least none that's being reported in the newspapers anyway."

"The whole country's probably rife with it."

"We can but hope," chuckled Anne. "Although that would only have Louis racing back here."

"Are you two actually having a conversation without carping at each other?" said Porthos, striding into the kitchen. "Must be the end of the world."

"It must indeed." Athos wanted nothing more than to kiss Porthos good morning. He made do with a welcoming smile that he hoped said it all.

Porthos smiled back, full of warmth and love. "There's a Dr Lemay at the door. He's new to the village practice. He's heard we're struggling up here and wants to help."

"If he's willing then I say let him in," said Anne.

Porthos shrugged. "For what it's worth, I agree."

"Your opinion is worth a lot." Athos raised an eyebrow at him. "I also agree so that's unanimous. I'll go have a word with the man."

Even from a distance, through the glazed side panel, Athos could see the visiting doctor was young and earnest. Newly qualified and on a mission to save the world, no doubt.

"Athos Lafère, how can I help?" he said, opening the door an inch or two.

"Good morning, your Lordship.”

The unwelcome form of address grated and Athos frowned. “I’d prefer less formality, if you don’t mind.”

“My name is François Lemay,” the man continued. “I’m the new GP and I was wondering if I could be of any assistance? I hear you've been struck down by influenza."

"If you're willing then we'd be most grateful," said Athos, opening the door to its full extent. "We've had three deaths, though none for a while. Our resident doctor is very sick. We're reliant on one nursing sister, and as superbly efficient as she is I'm sure she'd be glad of the help."

As it turned out, Constance wasn't grateful in the slightest. "You can't go letting people in here, Athos," she snapped. "Especially a general practitioner who has other patients to visit."

"I live alone in an isolated cottage and Dr Pritchard has agreed to let me be your private doctor until the epidemic is over," said Lemay. "He feels awful for neglecting you up here at the Manor."

"I still think it's a terrible idea," said Constance curtly. "But I suppose, if you insist."

Porthos and Athos watched from the doorway as she showed the doctor around the makeshift wards.

"He's a courageous man," said Porthos.

"Some would say foolhardy," agreed Athos.

"But then again it can be worth braving a surly attitude," said Porthos with a grin. "You never know what you might find underneath."

After a two hour visit, the doctor's verdict was that they were doing a monumentally good job. "I have no other advice, Sister Bonacieux," he said at the doorway. "Just keep doing what you're doing and I'll be back tomorrow with some tonic drinks to pep you all up."

"He seems nice," said Porthos as they watched the man drive off in his pint sized motor.

"Indeed," agreed Athos.

"Nice, but unnecessary," said Constance. "I need to change Aramis' sheets. You two can give me a hand."

Aramis was still suffering from a fever, but at least he was well enough to be able to converse a little today. "Won't you ever let me rest?" he complained as they rolled him from side to side to replace the bedding.

"You've been resting for weeks now," said Porthos. "It's high time you got up and gave us lot a chance of a lie in."

Laughing made Aramis cough, and though Athos managed to catch most of the droplets in a kidney bowl, he was still covered in a fine spray of spittle. He hoped no one noticed and wiped away the film after he rinsed out the tray in the servants' washroom that made do as a sluice.

When he returned to the isolation ward the conversation had taken a sad turn. Unbeknownst to them, Aramis had overheard a discussion about the three deaths and was heartbroken now that the names had been confirmed to him.

"Aramis, these things happen," snapped Athos. "Please don't dwell on it. It's an utterly pointless exercise. Concentrate instead on getting well and stop wallowing in misery."

It was clear from the looks he was getting that he'd put his foot soundly in it, and this became even more apparent when he was called over by Treville for a talking to.

"Is this how you'd manage a similar situation with your own men?" asked the captain.

Athos hung his head. He'd never been in this position before. His spell in command had been about blood and death and destruction rather than social niceties. But he understood there was a time for compassion and that he'd misjudged things badly.

"Aramis is ill," continued Treville. He's just found out that his patients, colleagues and friends who'd been under his care, have died and he didn't need to be told to pull his socks up and get on with it."

"I wasn't thinking," said Athos.

"I understand the strain you're under and I'm sure he does too, but an apology wouldn't go amiss," advised Treville.

Athos agreed wholeheartedly, but by the time he returned to Aramis' bedside the man was unconscious again. Subject to a withering glare from Constance, he sloped off to find solace in a cup of tea and as soon as he entered the kitchen a mug was placed in his hands.

He looked gratefully up at Porthos. "Please don't tell me off just yet," he pleaded. "I know I deserve it, but I've already had Treville saying how disappointed he is in my behaviour, and I don't think I could stand another lecture."

"Daft lad," said Porthos, removing the tea and replacing it with himself. "I know you were only trying to buck Aramis up a bit."

Hugs turned to wandering hands and greedy mouths, and this time Athos found it almost impossible to leave Porthos' arms. Comfort blanket he might be, but the frustration was also building and Athos wanted him more each day. "We must stop this," he said in between eager kisses and not so subtle gropes.

"We'll pick up where we left off tonight," said Porthos. "We're both due some kip. No one needs to know what we're up to in the bedroom."

"Absolutely not," said Athos, still horrified at the idea of sleeping together in a house full of people. The hotel was an entirely different scenario.

Porthos shook his head, picked up his own mug of tea and a single crutch then limped towards the door. "Then I'll leave you to wallow in your own misery. I've got laundry to be doing."

They didn't speak again after that and Athos tossed and turned all night, feverishly unhappy and too het up and overtired to manage more than a dozen winks of sleep. When the new day dawed, he was up with the first chattering of bird song, preparing breakfast and listening to the wireless, eager to make amends.

Aramis was first on his list and once he'd helped him to water and aspirin, he began the speech he'd been rehearsing for hours. "I apologise for the things I said yesterday," he said, staring down at his hands. "I was thoughtless and should never have dismissed your feelings in such a callous way."

"Have you finished?" said Aramis.

Athos looked up. He'd been worrying at the frayed areas of the blanket until it looked like the moths had been at it. Constance would be furious. "Not quite," he said with a half smile. "I had a few more sorries to add at the end."

"You have nothing to apologise for, my friend," said Aramis. "You're exhausted. You've been putting your own well being at risk looking after us all. That means a damn sight more than words. I'd ask for a hug, but you'd be standoffish and I don't want to endanger you any more than I did yesterday. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"In good health and much better spirits having spoken to you," said Athos with a rare full smile. "Now I must toast some muffins or there'll be rebellion in the ranks."

He left for the kitchen with a spring in his step and it was only later, after breakfast had been served and cleared away, that he realised he'd not seen Porthos all day. Asking around, he discovered to his immense concern that nobody else had either and so he raced up stairs on the hunt for him.

He'd not been in Tom’s old room for weeks now. The curtains were drawn and the room was the same dark pit it had been when he'd first arrived back at the Manor. Porthos was just a shape in the bed, as he had been that day, but this time there was no booming voice to greet him. Instead there was just the sound of laboured breathing.

Athos ran towards the bed, leaning over and resting a palm on a forehead that was burning hot to the touch. "Oh, God, no. Please don't be sick, Porthos, please."

The words were pointless of course and he raced out of the room calling for Constance. "Porthos is ill. He needs hot blankets and aspirin," he gasped, as soon as he found her. "Should we bring him downstairs?"

"No point," said Constance. "It would hurt his legs to move him and he's isolated enough where he is. Get him undressed. Anne and I will fetch the treatments and Dr Lemay will be along soon. Don't panic, Athos. Porthos needs you to be strong for him. Gibbering wrecks are of no use to anyone."

Weakened by sheer exhaustion, Porthos succumbed quickly to the disease, the pallor of his skin shocking, especially now that it was becoming tinged with the blueness of cyanosis. His lungs filled with fluid and the coughing was so dreadful that his nose hemorrhaged constantly, and even his ears began to bleed from the pressure exerted on them.

Still managing to look after the other patients, Athos spent every available minute of the day and night with Porthos, watching his decline and unable to do anything but hold him when he coughed and keep him clean and comfortable.

Dr Lemay came to visit bringing with him a bottle of morphine syrup to help alleviate some of the worst effects of the coughing. "He's physically strong," said the doctor, "which will definitely benefit his recovery."

Athos took little comfort from these words however because he could hear the unspoken 'but' at the end of the sentence. Heaving Porthos to a more upright position, he fed him spoonfuls of cough suppressant, followed by aspirin and sips of water.

"Athos?"

Athos felt his heart jump for joy as he looked into eyes that were clear and focused for the first time in days. "I'm here, my love."

"You shouldn't be," said Porthos in a voice so weak he could hardly be heard. "You'll get sick."

They'd had another casualty at the Manor in the last few days. Therese, the young nurse had passed away and Durand had also suffered a relapse. Aramis' recovery was a case of one step forward, two back and Captain Treville was still too ill to get out of bed. If Porthos died then Athos would rather follow him. He _would_ follow him, one way or another. He'd already made up his mind.

"Where else would I be?" said Athos, managing to rustle up a half smile. "Rest now. Don't waste your energy talking."

Porthos stared at him with those huge brown eyes and then collapsed forward, overtaken by another coughing fit. Athos held him and wiped him clean when it was over, helping him lie back on his pillows. He became unresponsive, unnaturally still and quiet, and Athos panicked, his own heart stuttering, until there was the sound of steady breathing once again.

Lifting Porthos' hand and pressing his lips to the knuckles, Athos prayed silently to a god who had never had time for him and, in all honesty, he didn't believe in. Even before the war, faith had always been a troublesome concept.

"You love him," came some quiet words from behind his shoulder.

Athos panicked again, but not so much that he'd willingly let go of Porthos' hand. He knew Anne's voice well enough. He knew _her_ well enough to be able to talk freely. They may fight, but he trusted her implicitly.

"I do," he said simply.

"And he loves you." She approached the bed, pulling back the covers and wrapping Porthos in hot sheets. "Hold the compress to his forehead whilst I do this."

With Porthos now mummified beneath the blankets, they waited for the treatment to progress to its end.

"You needn't worry," said Anne. "I'm in a similar situation. We both want what we mustn't have."

"But you won't go to prison for loving Aramis." Overcome by shyness, Athos glanced at Anne. "You don't seem shocked at all?"

"Ollie, darling, you never exactly tried to sweep the de Breuil woman off her feet." She smiled. "I never, for a minute, believed you were in love with her."

"I wanted to be, but it was never the same as it was with you and Tom." Athos clutched at Porthos' hand. "I understand now what was missing."

"I loved Tommy so much," said Anne. "He was my life. My parents were furious when we got engaged."

What a pompous and superficial world it had been back then. "The Lafères were far too lowly a family for your father," smirked Athos.

"He would have been a lot happier if I was planning on marrying you. At least you were the elder son with a title."

"Can you imagine it? We'd have driven each other mad." Athos huffed with laughter. "And with the benefit of hindsight, I can see now that I fancied Francis more than you." Anne's older cousin had always been something of a hero to him.

Anne looked at him incredulously at first and then she giggled. "He may well have been pleased to hear it. There were rumours, you know."

They fell into a comfortable silence until Anne disturbed it by asking a very personal question: "Have you and Porthos slept together?"

"Once," admitted Athos, seeing no reason to hide the truth. "When we were in London." He stared at her earnestly. "I had no intention of it being a dirty weekend. We'd kissed before then and discussed our feelings, but had agreed it could go no further."

"Why?" said Anne.

"Because I couldn't bear the thought of him imprisoned because of me," murmured Athos. "God knows what cruel treatment he'd receive in gaol, being black and homosexual. Even afterwards, I knew there could be no future for us."

"And did he agree?" asked Anne.

Athos felt weighed down by misery. They hadn't argued over it precisely, but there was nothing Athos regretted more than not being in bed with Porthos to comfort him when be began to feel ill. Instead he'd been left to suffer alone. He couldn't bring himself to answer Anne's question and abruptly changed the subject.

"Will you have an affair with Aramis?" he asked.

"You're always so frank." Anne shook her head in disbelief. "I love Aramis and I think he loves me, although we've never spoken of it."

"Then you should," said Athos as he clutched Porthos' hand between both of his. "Don't be filled with remorse like I am. Tell Aramis how you feel and then be together, if that's what you both want."


	17. Chapter 17

The spanish flu was a frightening experience, Aramis discovered. Delirious from fever he saw visions of Heaven and Hell, his mother wiping the sweat from his brow intertwined with the priest threatening him with fire and brimstone. Anne was an angel at his bedside and, at first, the pain was so bad that he wanted nothing more than to be led to the gates of St Peter, but then when he began to come around from each relapse he enjoyed every second of her earthly form as she fed him and washed him and often just sat and talked to him.

"She's married," warned Treville, looking at him over the top of his reading glasses once Anne had left the ward carrying a load of dirty sheets.

Aramis sighed. "I am aware."

"Then don't play fast and loose with her, the way you've done with the village girls. The last I heard Marguerite and Isabelle were still pining after you."

Aramis flushed from a combination of fever and embarrassment. He had no idea the tales of his romantic exploits had reached the ears of his CO. "Anne's different," he said reverently.

"She is," agreed Treville. "So make sure you remember that."

Aramis nodded, determined not to cause trouble. Anne had been a blessing to them in their hour of need.

"I'm afraid I have some more bad news," continued Treville. "Porthos has got the flu."

Aramis' heart sank. The big man, with his ever present smile and indefatigable spirit, had kept them all going. The Manor wouldn't survive without him. He knew that things must be bad because Treville was preparing him for the worst.

"Is he very sick?" he asked. He was still struggling to come to terms with d'Artagnan's death and to lose Porthos too would be unthinkable. It would be a repeat of the Savoy massacre with his entire squad blown to pieces around him. Lost in the trenches, he could hear the forty pounders going off relentlessly. See the blood. A river of blood. Everywhere.

"Aramis? Come on, lad. That's it. Come back to us."

The captain was out of bed, gripping Aramis by the shoulder and talking him through his distress. 

"The new doctor will make certain Porthos is fine," said Treville in that steadying voice that had become such a comfort to them all.

"Back to bed, Captain," said Anne as she returned to the ward with two cups of tea. "You're not fit enough to be skipping around the place yet."

"I rather think I am," said Treville, putting on his dressing gown and slippers. "It feels good to be up. I'll take a wander to the washroom. It's not far and I'll shout if I need help."

There followed a quiet conversation at the doorway between Anne and the captain which Aramis assumed was about him, but however hard he tried he couldn't pick out the words. 

Once they were alone, Anne pulled up a chair to his bedside. "Captain Treville tells me you became very distressed just now," she said.

Aramis had been counselled on the after effects of shell shock and he and Athos had spoken several times on the matter, discussing how debilitating it was, but he could never quite get over the embarrassment factor of being unable to cope. 

"Will Porthos make it?" he asked, to avoid being the subject of this conversation. His friend was the crux of the matter, after all.

"We hope so, but he's very sick indeed. The disease is causing him to bleed a lot more than anyone else has done so far. Dr Lemay is concerned about how it's affecting him internally." She patted Aramis' arm. "But try not to worry. We're doing everything we can."

"I couldn't bear to lose him," murmured Aramis and he fought back tears that welled in his eyes. "Is Athos still fit?"

"Remarkably so yes," smiled Anne "He was always a tough little shit."

Aramis laughed through his pain. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear it. I assumed, with his lungs in such a bad state..." He faltered, unwilling to express his grimmest thoughts.

"Never underestimate Ollie Lafère," said Anne. "Now drink your tea and tell me all your troubles."

Aramis found himself pouring everything out to her. Tales of his happy childhood and how they contrasted so vividly with his time at the front. He described in detail how he'd try to patch up the wounded only to have the whole unit snatched from him.

"I was unfit for duty," he said, rubbing the heels of his hands into both eyes.

"And you've done more good in England than you could have ever done over there in that bloodbath," she said. "Look how much you've helped the chaps here."

"Everyone's dying like flies," he said with a rueful smile.

"You know what I mean." She let out a chuckle of laughter. "And at least they're dying happy."

They were so very close, physically and emotionally, and Aramis longed to kiss her, but he would never risk her life. 

Instead, she kissed him in a whisper soft exchange.

"You'll get ill," he said, pulling back in fear.

"I've wiped up your blood and bathed every inch of you," she laughed. "If I catch the flu it will have nothing to do with a kiss. Surely you should be more worried about seducing a married woman?"

Aramis narrowed the distance between them, cupping the back of her neck. "Your husband is the last thing on my mind," he said as he kissed her again, slowly, ever so tenderly until she opened up to him. "You're my girl now."


	18. Chapter 18

Porthos was so damn tired of life. With his lungs wet and heavy sacks inside his chest, breathing was more of an effort than a twenty mile run in full kit. His mouth tasted of iron and sickness. His body stank of sweat and disease and he'd pray for the release of death if it weren't for one thing.

"You looked shattered," he said as Athos washed him with a flannel and then toweled him dry

"Hush now. Save that energy for your recovery."

"I'm saving my energy for something a lot more fun," he said with a grin.

Athos responded with a weary smile. "And I promise you, Porthos, that once you're better, with no fear of relapse, I'll spend every second of every night making love to you." He choked back a sob and moved away from the bedside to place the bowl on the chest of drawers. "I've been such a fool."

"Come 'ere." Porthos beckoned him over. "Sit with me please." When Athos did so Porthos took hold of a slim hand. "Hearing that is the best medicine ever."

"That I'm a fool?" Athos managed a half smile.

"The other part," laughed Porthos. "The bit about us making a lot of love."

"I meant every word of it." 

Athos leant forward to kiss him briefly on the lips and for the first time Porthos noticed he was clean shaven and baby faced with it. He seemed so young. "What happened to the beard?" he asked.

"The girls said I was in danger of turning feral so I chopped it off." Athos blushed. "It'll grow back soon enough."

"You look sweet and innocent," said Porthos, stroking his hand over a baby soft cheek.

"I was until you deflowered me," smiled Athos, kissing a fingertip as it passed by his mouth. "Now sleep for a while and I'll bring you up some lunch in an hour or so."

"Lie with me first," yawned Porthos. He'd didn't have the energy for anything more strenuous, but it would be pure joy to have Athos next to him.

"And miss out on the opportunity of bed bathing Aramis," smirked Athos. "You must be joking."

Porthos fell back to sleep a happy man and was surprised, when he awoke feeling restored and closer to normal, to discover an Athos who was rake thin, more exhausted than ever and with a full beard once again.

"What happened?" he muttered, his voice gone, his throat as painful as if he'd been swallowing broken glass.

Athos said nothing but squeezed his shoulder with an iron grip.

"You suffered a sudden relapse, Porthos," said the doctor. "But you finally appear to be on the road to recovery."

"How's Aramis?" asked Porthos, seconds before a thermometer was thrust beneath his tongue.

"He's well," said Constance, sitting on the bed and taking his pulse. "He and Treville are still recovering but they're both up and about. In fact no one is left in their sickbed, except you."

"According to the newspapers and wireless reports, it seems the epidemic is over across Europe," said Dr Lemay. "Let's pray it's the last we see of the dreaded Spanish Flu."

Taking the thermometer from Porthos' mouth Constance read it, shook it and stuck it in a beaker of antiseptic solution. Writing down the observations on a chart, she passed the board to the young doctor with a smile. "Everything's looking good."

"Sit up if you can, Porthos," said Lemay. 

Porthos did as he was asked, finding movement and breathing a lot easier than the last time he was awake. As the doctor listened to his chest, front and back, Porthos kept his eyes fixed on Athos who wandered the room, pale and wraithlike. The bed next to his, which had been stripped to the bare mattress when Athos moved out, was made up with sheets and blankets and Porthos knew then that he must have become so very ill that Athos had feared the worst and refused to leave his side.

"Your lungs are clearing nicely. Your temperature is normal and the hemorrhaging has finally stopped," said Lemay. "I'd wager a hefty sum that you're over the crisis."

"And if you promise not to relapse again then I'll bring you a cup of tea," said Constance.

"That would be nice," rasped Porthos, reaching for the water jug. "I'm parched."

Athos beat him to it, refilling the glass and then holding it to his lips for him to take small sips.

"I think we're done with the examination," said Lemay. "Stay well this time, Porthos. You can't keep frightening us this way."

"I promise you I'll do my level best, Doc," said Porthos, feeling tired but better than he had done in weeks.

"I'll see you out," said Constance to the doctor and it seemed, to Porthos' keen eyes, that something deeper than friendship was developing between them.

"Those two are in love," he said, once he and Athos were alone.

"They are," said Athos. "A strange case of bonding over bedpans." He smiled. "Lemay is very insistent that she go to university and study medicine. He's way ahead of the times in his philosophies."

"Good," said Porthos. "Then he's just what she needs. Better than mothering poor wounded boys back from the front." He watched Athos who was tidying the room and drawing the curtains fully. "Do you think we're as obvious to others?"

Athos stopped in his tracks. "Anne knows," he said, looking down at his feet. "She guessed and, well, I suppose I confessed everything." He glanced at Porthos. "I'm sorry, but you were so sick and I was at my wits' end."

"Don't be sorry," said Porthos, patting the mattress beside him. 

Athos slumped wearily next to him on the bed.

"You know how much I love you," continued Porthos. "But I've never told you how proud I am that you're mine." He kissed Athos' hand. "I'd sing it from the rooftops if I could."

"When I found you lying here so ill, I was terrified." Athos kissed Porthos on the lips. "I'm never happier than when I'm with you. My only regret is that I wasted so much of our time together. When I thought you weren't going to make it..." His voice gave out.

"I'm not going to die, Athos," promised Porthos. "Not until I'm at least ninety and then I'll slip away happily in your arms. Our friends, at least, should know about us. Stuff anyone who doesn't like it. They can take a running jump as far as I'm concerned."

"Constance already suspects and Lemay too, I think," said Athos. "Aramis and Treville remain oblivious, but only because they've not seen how I am around you."

Porthos rested his head against Athos' shoulder. "They'll know soon enough then because I'm fighting fit and intend to be by your side every second of the day."

"Not so, I'm afraid, Porthos. You've got a long period of recuperation ahead of you before you can even think about being up and about," said Constance, bustling into the room with two cups of tea. "But it's good to finally see a smile on this one's face." She set the cups down and brushed a lock of hair away from Athos' eyes. "You have no need to look so anxious, my dears. You're safe amongst friends."

"Told you so," said Porthos gruffly. He looked up gratefully at Constance. "Thank you. For everything."

"Show me your gratitude by getting better," she said with a smile. "And now I'll leave you two lovebirds alone to bill and coo and drink your tea."

It was the best feeling ever to be able to lie together on the bed, talking quietly whilst holding hands and exchanging the occasional kiss.

"How did the auction of paintings go?" asked Porthos as he sipped his tea and looked around at bare walls, remembering, in vibrant detail, that life changing trip to London which seemed a decade ago at least.

"We made a mint," said Athos, that ghostlike greyness diminishing as they chatted. "I received a cheque last week that was for more than double what the manager estimated, even with premiums deducted. It seems that London is still a wealthy city for some."

"It's all them bankers," said Porthos gruffly. "They'll be telling you to invest it in stocks and shares."

"I'm keeping it held in account for the upkeep of this place," said Athos and then he sighed. "Although there aren't many of us left to care for here. We're just a handful now."

"I'd like a handful of you," said Porthos, feeling playful, despite his weariness, and reaching down for a naughty fondle.

"Steady," said Athos, brushing his fingers away with a smile. "The ones that do remain will still want feeding." He leaned in close to whisper in Porthos' ear. "How about I help you to the bathroom this afternoon for a soak in the tub? I can stay close by in case you need a hand in there."

"Oh, I'll need you," growled Porthos. "I definitely will."

"I'll look forward to it," said Athos, swallowing the dregs of his tea then getting up off the bed. "But for now, I must love you and leave you."

Porthos grabbed him by the hand. "Love me, never leave me," he said fervently. "One kiss before you go."

Athos leaned in towards him and when their mouths met and opened to one another, it was with the same delirious intensity as that first kiss they'd shared and Porthos felt the effects of it long after Athos had gone.

He was locked in a blissful daydream, pretending to read about the exploits of the Count of Monte Cristo, when there was a gentle knocking sound and a surprise visitor poked his head around the door.

"I heard you were on the mend, my friend, and so I struggled up all these stairs to see if the wonderful news were indeed true."

"Aramis." Porthos held out his arms, overjoyed to see the man after so long. "You look well and happy."

"I am both, my dear fellow."

They embraced for at least a minute, each man tremendously relieved that the other was still in this world. 

"One thing the dreaded war has done is allowed us chaps our emotions back," said Aramis, brushing away a stray tear. "When I heard you were so desperately ill I was in agony that I couldn't look after you."

"From what little I remember, I think Lemay has been a fine doctor," said Porthos.

"Though not as fine as me," grinned Aramis, sitting beside Porthos on the bed.

"Of course not," laughed Porthos. "Not even close to possible." 

Porthos steeled himself. With the door safely shut, it seemed like the perfect time to confess his feelings for Athos, and he was about to do just that when he was pipped at the post by Aramis.

"Porthos, I need to tell you something and I hope you'll not judge me for it." 

Porthos frowned because this was, almost word for word, what he had been about to say. "What is it?" he asked in confusion.

Aramis sighed and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "Anne and I are having an affair. There's an old gamekeeper's cottage on the estate and we've been meeting there in secret for the past few evenings."

The idea of trysts in a derelict house sounded a bit sordid to Porthos. Aramis had a reputation for playing the field, but to carry on with a married member of the aristocracy was a bit too much, even for him. But then who was he to question Aramis' behaviour?

"Aren't you going to say anything?" asked Aramis, his eyes wide with nervous expectation.

"There's not a lot to say really." Porthos clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Give her one from me?"

But Aramis wasn't duped by the humorous show of approval and chewed anxiously at a nail. "Look, I know it seems dreadfully wrong of us, but I promise you that she and I are truly in love."

"I believe you," said Porthos. Again these were words that had been lifted from his own confession speech. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," he added and then he looked anywhere but at Aramis, nerves getting the better of him. "Actually, there's something I need to get off my chest too."

"Other than phlegm?"

"Other than phlegm indeed," said Porthos in a gruff voice. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were about to leap off the highest diving board into a very shallow pool. It was no different to that, he supposed. "I'm also in love," he said quietly. "And I have been for quite some time."

He opened his eyes to see Aramis looking puzzled. He'd hoped it had been more obvious, or that Anne may have given away their secret during pillow talk, but it seemed that was not the case.

"Athos and I are together," he said in a short burst of words.

"Together?" questioned Aramis, frowning at the revelation. "You surely can't mean that?"

This was far from the reaction Porthos had been hoping for, but now that he'd begun his admission he had no choice but to plough on with it. A chilling thought entered his head; if he were so inclined, Aramis could report them to Treville for gross indecency. Overwhelmed by misery, he wished that he'd waited a day or so until he and Athos had enjoyed some time alone with each other before the worst happened. 

"We love each other," he repeated in a monotone. "We have done for months."

"And you've been carrying on here all this time?" said Aramis, his revulsion at the news plain to see.

Porthos lost his temper. "No, we haven't been bloody _carrying on_ , as you so nicely put it." He was offended, despite the fact that these were the words he himself had applied to Aramis' affair. "I would have done, like a shot, but Athos was concerned about what would happen if we were discovered in bed together. I told him that it was okay. That we were amongst friends. I'm beginning to think I was wrong."

An uncomfortable silence was building and Porthos longed for the power to turn back the clock. Then, just as he was about to call for Treville and admit the truth before anyone shopped them, the wall began to dismantle, brick by invisible brick, as Aramis' demeanour softened and his expression changed to one of guilt.

"You _are_ amongst friends," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry, Porthos. I overreacted terribly. I've been brought up to think of homosexuality as a sin and to hear you confess to being in love with another man was upsetting."

"But surely it's no worse than what you're doing?" said Porthos, irritated by the hypocrisy. "You're destroying someone's marriage. Isn't coveting your neighbour's wife one of the worst sins as far as you Catholic lot are concerned?"

"I know all that," said Aramis. "Don't you think I don't beat myself up over it every hour of the day."

"And yet you still do it," persisted Porthos.

"Because I love Anne."

"And I love Athos," said Porthos. "He and I aren't married, nor do we have sweethearts to cheat on. In fact, the only reason our sin is greater than yours, in your eyes, is because we're both men and the idea of us having a fuck disgusts you."

Aramis stood abruptly and stared at the second made up bed in the room. "It does a little," he admitted, "But it's your business and I swear I'll not cause any trouble."

"Thank you," said Porthos with a huge amount of relief. But being turned in to the authorities wasn't the only thing that had been bothering him. "We _will_ still be friends?" he asked nervously. "The three of us?" The bond that existed between them had become incredibly important to him.

"Of course we're still friends," said Aramis. "We'll always be friends. I don't know what I'd do without you. I should never have said what I did. I was taken aback."

"That's one way of putting it." Porthos smiled. "But I suppose it's good that you were honest." Neither man was convinced by the choice the other had made, but at least they'd been open about it. Secrets were insidious beasts and caused nothing but harm.

Settling down to some less contentious chat, they were disturbed a while later by Athos bringing in a luncheon tray.

"Hello," he said with a full smile, accompanied by that habitual dry cough. "There's enough sandwiches here for two. I'll go and make some more."

"No need," said Aramis. "I'm not stopping."

"Stay please, Aramis. I can't tell you how good it is to have both you and Porthos fit and well at last," said Athos as he placed the tray carefully on the table. "I was feeling bereft."

"I bet you were," said Aramis with a smile that almost reached his eyes. "No. I'll leave you to do your catching up in private."

He departed abruptly, closing the door deliberately behind him rather than breezing out, the way he would normally have done, and once he had gone Athos stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window.

"You told him."

"I did," said Porthos. "He told me about his affair with Anne and so I felt the time was right to unburden myself."

"Is that what I am?" said Athos cautiously. "A burden?"

"God no," said Porthos, regretting his choice of words as soon as he'd uttered them. "Anything but in fact. Just a stupid turn of phrase." He held out his arms, employing a hangdog expression. "I need a hug and it may as well be from you."

Athos raised an amused eyebrow then came over and lay next to him. The last few weeks had taken their toll on him and he was more docile than before, a long way from the mischievous chap who'd borrowed a car, without knowing how to drive, and booked them into a posh suite at the Savoy hotel. For such an innocent man he'd been eager to learn everything that night, a joy to have in bed, and Porthos wondered how best to resurrect him.

"Aramis didn't take the news well, I assume?" said Athos, settling against him.

"Not as well as I'd hoped," said Porthos, slipping an arm around Athos' shoulders. "But he's still our friend and has no intention of causing any trouble for us."

Athos brightened up immediately and reached for the plate of sandwiches. "Well then, that's something to celebrate, in my opinion."

Porthos grinned at him. "You surprise me in so many ways."

"I thought I'd lost you," said Athos. "I came close to it several times. Dr Lemay was certain your heart couldn't take the strain much longer. Believe me, Porthos, nothing short of disaster could dampen my spirits today, certainly not Aramis showing a little disdain for our relationship. It's not as if we want him to join us in bed."

"You're remarkable," said Porthos, tipping Athos towards him with an open palm then kissing him with soft sweeps of tongue. "And I love you."

"Thank you, but please tuck into your lunch rather than me," smirked Athos, pulling away from him. "Save your strength for later," he added, his voice lowering in volume. "Once we're safely locked inside the bathroom, away from prying eyes, I intend to show you exactly how much I love you."

"I like the sound of that." Porthos stiffened with excitement at this and reached obediently for a ham sandwich.

True to his words, as soon as the food had been disposed of and allowed to digest, Athos ran a tub of water and then helped Porthos across the landing. 

He was ashamed of himself. As weak as a kitten, he had to lean all his bodyweight on Athos' smaller frame and even this way, with an added crutch for support, it took all his effort to walk twenty feet down the corridor.

"What must you think of me?" he said, sinking into a chair as Athos locked the door and helped him out of his slippers and pyjamas.

"I think you're alive and wonderful and the most beautiful sight I've ever seen in my life," said Athos looking up at him from where he was kneeling on the floor, his fingers tracing the scars on Porthos' legs as if he loved them as much as the rest of him. "Let me look after you."

"I want to be well," said Porthos in a low voice.

"You will be soon enough," said Athos. "And in the meantime, I'll enjoy nursing you."

Slowly they inched their way over to the tub and Porthos made it into the bath, submerging with a splash into the water and drenching Athos in the process.

"What a disaster." He laughed at the drowned rat next to him. "You may as well get in with me now."

"That was my plan all along." Athos paused. "As long as you're fit enough?"

"I am that."

With this reassurance from Porthos, Athos wasted no time in stripping off and joining him in the water, carefully positioning himself so as not to cause any harm or discomfort.

"I can't tell you what a joy this is," said Porthos as Athos began to wash him with soap and flannel. "I dreamt of you all the time when I was ill. Nothing but you. Us together, being happy. Being left alone." 

"It can happen," said Athos. "It _will_ happen; I'll make sure of it." Stroking Porthos to full erection, he bent his head and took him into his mouth, holding his cock and exploring him with tongue and lips.

"Oh," cried Porthos, stretching out and closing his eyes. With a head full of worry and a house full of people to look after, he'd not had much chance to get aroused since their time together in London. Even those fleeting moments, when he and Athos had risked everything and exchanged needy kisses, had been laced with desperation rather than desire. His thoughts, however, had often drifted back to the few hours they'd spent together at the hotel. He'd begun to think it would never happen again, and in his occasional lucid moments during weeks of illness he'd looked back on it with heartbreaking nostalgia, so to have Athos here, like this, was more than he'd ever dared hope.

With a steady hand and gentle sucking, Athos brought him to the edge of orgasm, holding him there, cleverly, beautifully, until he toppled, gripping the rolled edge of the bath and pushing himself deep into Athos' mouth as he climaxed.

"Athos," he growled, unable at first to find words, his fingers tangling into damp hair. Then he knew what he wanted to say. "There's never been anyone but you." He wished now that he too had been a virgin when they'd met. That they'd shared their discovery of sex together.

Athos reclined against him and, with hands clasped, they worked him to orgasm, his come spilling in streaks and thickening in the hot water. "I have to be with you," he said, his mouth against Porthos' neck. "There's no choice, even if I wanted there to be one." He sighed with relief as if everything had become clear to him. "I don't need a choice. I need you. I love you."


	19. Chapter 19

Their first night sleeping together at the Manor was not spent making love. Porthos was far too exhausted, debilitated from his long illness.

"I'm sorry," he said, annoyed at his flagging health.

"Don't be," said Athos as he lay next to him, tucked away under the covers, his heart racing from nerves. He laughed at his own sorry state. "I'm far too scared to do anything more sinful than this."

"What we do together is not sin," murmured Porthos, his palm pressed against Athos' cheek. "And if anyone thinks it is-"

"They can take a running jump?" Athos laughed softly.

"Exactly that," said Porthos, his eyelids shuttering and his breathing becoming soft and shallow.

Athos watched him sleep, resting his hand on that big barrel chest in order to feel the steady thump of a heart. Two days ago he'd been imagining a solitary existence for himself -- a life spent in silent mourning, taken up with visits to a graveside at dusk so that no one would see his tears. Now Porthos had come through the worst of it, they were able to hold each other once more, and he was determined that nothing would stand in their way.

What will they think of me, Tom? he asked the ghost of his brother. What would you think of me?

But he knew, with absolute certainty, the answer to his last question. Tom would never have challenged his choice of lover, nor judged him because of it. He and Anne would have accepted them as family, no matter what. He choked on his tears, a flood of them coming to him suddenly as at last he was able to grieve for his loss. Tom was all he'd ever had, heart stopping like a clock when his belovéd younger brother was brutally ripped from him. Now it was beating again and it was agony.

"Athos," said Porthos, waking and wrapping an arm around him then holding him close. He didn't need to ask what was the matter, knowing Athos as well as he did. "That's it," he murmured, kissing his forehead. "Cry it out, sweetheart. I'm here for you."

Once the sobbing had subsided Athos was able to drift towards sleep, comforted by a vast amount of love that was so strong it was palpable. By next morning he'd metamorphosised into a different man, unfettered by grief and without the heavy weight of guilt. To wake beside Porthos in his own home was a dream come true. They would make the Manor theirs, furnish the biggest bedroom as their own and live within its walls as a loving couple.

"This is a miracle," he said softly as he helped Porthos with his ablutions.

"The miracle will be when you no longer have to hold a chamber pot for me," muttered Porthos.

"I'll gladly hold anything for you," smirked Athos and putting the pot down he dabbed tooth powder onto a toothbrush and, with a chuckle of laughter, attempted to clean Porthos' teeth.

"Sod off," said Porthos, snatching the brush off him. "This is the one thing I can do myself. The least you can do is allow me that dignity."

"I'll attend to the other parts then." Athos pulled down the bedclothes and washed away the remnants of their early morning sex with a damp flannel, remembering the excitement of it with a smile of pure delight.

He'd been woken at dawn by kisses from Porthos and before long, the sleepy exchange growing ever more urgent, they'd scrambled to free themselves from the confines of clothing then rubbed against each other, coming eventually from the heated contact of bare flesh.

"I'd forgotten. I thought I must be dreaming of waking up next to you," said Porthos as Athos washed him, dried him and then changed him into a fresh pair of pyjamas.

"This _is_ a dream, Porthos," said Athos, echoing earlier thoughts. "A wonderful dream from which we never have to wake."

"You have the soul of a romantic poet," chuckled Porthos. "I often wonder what you see in a rough old thing like me."

"I see my life," said Athos, leaning in to kiss him. "I see the whole universe." He smiled. "I also see a suspiciously stained sheet. Remind me to change it later before anyone notices."

"Poetic and yet so very mundane," grinned Porthos. "God, I'm parched. You don't fancy fetching me a cup of char, do you?"

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Don't get _too_ used to me waiting on you."

"I won't," growled Porthos. "Believe me, I can't wait to take care of you." He made a sudden grab for Athos, pulling him in and kissing him with all the passion he could drum up in his current weakened state. It was enough to have them lying together in the bed, pressed close and humming into each other's mouths, hands searching out bare skin.

"Steady now," said Athos, pulling reluctantly away from the clinch. "I have my duties-"

"Don't forget my cup of tea," interrupted Porthos, rolling over into a nest of warm blankets. "And maybe a slice or three of toast."

"Cheeky sod," laughed Athos as he left the bedroom, carrying with him the ewer and chamber pot, emptying them in the bathroom on the way and then taking them downstairs to the makeshift sluice to be cleaned later.

The building was quiet. Durand and Henry had been shipped off to their homes last week and Teresa had found a new position as kitchen maid in one of the bigger houses. Hustle and bustle now a thing of the past, the Manor had become a ghost hospital, the outbreak of flu more than decimating their small population.

"From regimental commander to scullery maid," said Treville who was seated at the kitchen table, waiting for a kettle to boil on the range. Smiling, he watched Athos potter around, preparing the teapot and collecting cups onto a tray as he kept an eye on the grill.

"I prefer it," admitted Athos. "You are, after all, guests in my house."

"Intruders would be a better description," said Treville. "Aramis told me that you'd sold off family heirlooms to pay for the running of the home." He looked bemused. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were willing to do that for us."

"It's nothing," said Athos with a shrug. "The paintings were ugly."

"It's far from nothing," said Treville, fixing him with a stern but kindly eye. "Aramis also told me how diligently you worked to look after us all."

"Really, Captain, your gratitude is unnecessary." Truth be told, it made Athos uncomfortable. He'd not been used to such as a youngster.

"It's plain old mister from now on. Or John if you’d prefer."

For the first time, Athos noticed the discharge papers spread out on the table.

"I'm sorry," he said. "The army are a bunch of rotten bastards."

Treville sighed. "It'll be a wrench, I admit. I've been a soldier all my life, but unfortunately not one with any specific skill to fall back on. I have no home to return to. My parents are both dead and my brothers were killed in France. I have a married sister, but I doubt she'd be pleased to have me turn up unannounced on her doorstep. We've not communicated since my father's funeral."

On his way to make the tea, Athos clapped a firm hand down on Treville's shoulder. "I understand how you feel, John," he said. He'd be alone if it weren't for Porthos. "War leaves us all in a strange nomansland."

"It does," said Treville, staring into space.

"But you are not without friends," said Athos, surprising himself with these words. "There's absolutely no need to leave here in a hurry."

"Thank you," said Treville with a warm smile. "I'm rather glad to hear that because I have some savings tucked away and an idea of what to do with them." He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. "I noticed, on my trips to London, that there's a farm for sale just to the west of here. I don't suppose you know anything about it?"

"It's good land," said Athos. "It was owned by the Garouville family, but the old man had gambling issues. He went bankrupt before the war and lost everything. It's certainly a solid place to invest your money. I expect you could pick it up dirt cheap, the state the banks are currently in. I assume you know something about arable farming?"

"I do indeed," said Treville, looking thoughtful. "Thank you, Athos. You've been a great help as always."

Unused to all this praise Athos blushed and, having run out of words, he passed Treville his breakfast of tea and toast then loaded a tray to take upstairs. The others could fetch and carry for themselves today. He had someone far more important to look after and he hurried out of the kitchen, eager to visit him.

"Good morning, Ollie. Still grinning like a loon, I see."

The use of his old name was always a shock to his ears and Athos looked to his right to see Anne passing him on the stairs. She was wearing her nurse's uniform and he wondered how much longer it would be before she'd have to return to her real life.

"We're very lucky to have them both with us," she added with a tender smile.

"We are indeed," agreed Athos, staring at the step in front of him in a fit of shyness. "And Louis? I don't suppose anything _fortunate_ has happened to him." He glanced up and smirked. "Like a fatal dose of flu, for instance."

"Wicked boy," said Anne with a glint in her eye. "Sadly not, I'm afraid. He's returning home in a month or two and then I'll be stuck with endless rounds of visits to boring nobility. You don't know how much I envy you being free of all that nonsense." She gripped his arm suddenly, making the cups rattle precariously on the tray. "Please say we can have the party we were planning before disaster struck."

She was his little sister again, annoying, but at the same time endearing in her entreaties.

"Please," she continued. "It would be so much fun after all the misery we've all been through and I know it would cheer Constance up. Plus it would give her and François a chance to let their hair down and get to know each other better."

"I would have said yes ages ago if only you'd stopped nagging long enough to let me get a word in edgewise," he teased.

"You utter beast," she said. "You're so much more sweet tempered nowadays." She pinched him on the cheek and then laughed merrily. "I must remember to thank Porthos when I see him next."

Tripping down the stairs, no doubt off to make plans, she was so much like the young girl Athos remembered from his childhood. He watched her go, no longer bitter that she had managed to rake up some happiness from the ashes of what was left. Tom was dead. Anne had accepted this years ago and, long overdue, Athos was finally able to do the same.

"You're all smiles," said Porthos, propping himself up on pillows in anticipation as soon as Athos entered the bedroom.

"I love everything about the world today," Athos replied, pushing the door shut with the back of his heel, then plonking the tray down on the table and pouring two cups from the pot. Placing them and the plate of toast and marmalade onto the chest of drawers, he vaulted over Porthos to land on the far side of the bed, tucking his hands contentedly behind his neck.

"It's amazing what a bit of sex does for your spirits," laughed Porthos as he reached for his tea. "I can't wait to find out what a lot of it will do."

"Life has put me in a good mood," laughed Athos, at peace with himself. "It's not just you, I'm afraid. Nor is it the fun I had in the bathroom yesterday when I was sucking you off."

"Say that again," said Porthos in a voice that was, all of a sudden, roughened by desire.

"I love sucking you off," said Athos, his eyes darkening at the memory. "I love having your cock in my mouth and I can't wait to feel you inside me."

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Porthos in amazement. 

Athos looked at him, full of curiosity.

"Look what your dirty talk does to me," he said, and replacing his cup on the saucer, he pulled down the bed clothes to reveal a cock that was fully hard and forcing its way eagerly through the open flies of his pyjamas.

Transfixed by the sight, Athos hummed in approval. "You get on with your breakfast and I'll get on with this."

Rumbling out some words of encouragement, Porthos threw the blankets aside and spread his legs, letting out a slight groan of pain as he reached his physical limits.

Athos massaged those aching limbs and then settled between them, curling his fingers around Porthos' erection then taking him into his mouth and sucking at him lazily. They had time and he was going to make damn good use of it. It was an exciting thing to do, to pleasure Porthos as he rested, eating slices of toast and sipping at his tea. It was loving and gentle and, in doing so, Athos felt not only aroused but exhilarated that he could take care of Porthos in this way.

"Anne's persuaded me to throw a party here," he said, resting back on his haunches as he took a breather, stealing Porthos' cup and having a generous swallow of tea. "It's not needed as a fundraiser, but I suppose it'll be a last hurrah for this place." 

"Our wedding celebration, you could say," grinned Porthos.

"That too." Brimming over with happiness, Athos returned the cup to its saucer and was about to go joyfully back to the job in hand when Porthos reached for him. Tugging at braces and undoing fly buttons on trousers and pants, he untucked both shirt and vest and then freed Athos' cock.

"I need to feel you," he said, taking them both in his paw of a hand. "I know we should be more sensible." He began to stroke them off, firm and fast, until Athos was trembling against him, his trousers pushed down, his shirt hiked up, lewd and vocal with it as he readied himself for orgasm. "But I can't think about being careful," he continued. "Not when you're mine and you're so bloody gorgeous all undone like this."

Athos gasped and bucked into him, helplessly in love.

"That's it, darling, just like that. Show me how much you want me."

At these words Athos lost his senses. If anyone had walked in he couldn't have done anything about it. Laid bare, he moaned out words of absolute need, his come spilling over Porthos' skin, wetting the material of his pyjamas. More now as Porthos joined him in orgasm and they collapsed into a hot sticky mess.

"Thank heavens I do most of the laundry," smirked Athos, looking in amused horror at the state of their clothing and the spoiled bed linen. 

"Leave the sheets," growled Porthos. "We'll only need clean ones tomorrow."

An inexorable well of excitement built inside Athos. They were, as Porthos had implied, as good as hitched now. He was embarking on his honeymoon and looking forward to the married life that would follow along from it.


	20. Chapter 20

Lying in their makeshift bed, in this hovel of a love nest, Aramis stared up at the peeling paint on the ceiling, a sense of gloom descending on him, despite the glorious hour they'd just spent making love.

"We have just a matter of weeks left together?" he said for the third time in ten minutes. "I can't bear the thought of losing you, my darling." 

Anne smoothed his frown lines away with a fingertip and then lit two cigarettes, passing one to him. "You're not losing me."

"But we won't see each other every single day as we have been," he said. "I'll not be able to kiss every inch of you and have you fall asleep in my arms."

"No," she said pragmatically, "but Louis is often away and we can see each other then. Athos won't mind us meeting here."

"You don't understand. I can't stay here at the Manor with no patients to look after." Aramis let out a sigh of despondency and watched the smoke curl upwards. "I have no choice but to return home to London and start looking for a job." The fairytale was over. He sat up, stubbing out both cigarettes then taking Anne's hand in his. "Come too. Divorce Louis and marry me instead."

"And will your faith allow you to do that?" she asked in confusion. 

Roman Catholicism was not a religion that was renowned for its acceptance of adultery. "No, but I don't give a damn who performs the ceremony. I only care about you." Aramis knelt beside the mattress. "I love you, Anne. Will you please marry me?"

"Darling, you know I feel the same," replied Anne, "But I've committed myself to Louis and, for the sake of our families, I can't just walk away from it." She kissed him gently. "Let's not think about this now. I forgot to tell you; Athos has promised us we can have a party here before I have to leave."

Resentment built in Aramis' heart. It was utterly unfair that his friends should be able to live their lives together, buggering each other nightly, when he and Anne had a natural, loving relationship and yet would be denied even the smallest iota of happiness.

"You do know that Athos and Porthos are lovers?" he asked, hating himself instantly for revealing the truth as if it were scurrilous gossip from one of the rags.

"Of course I do," said Anne, frowning at Aramis. "I've known for a while. Athos and I were a support for each other when you and Porthos were both at death's door. He's practically my brother."

"And you don't think it's wrong that they should be doing this?" Aramis was truly shocked by her nonchalant attitude.

"I've known Athos since we were children and I've never seen him happier," said Anne. "They didn't choose to fall in love with each other. It was unstoppable. We all watched it happen. I'm scared of the risk they’re taking, but that doesn't stop me being delighted for them."

"But what they do in bed-"

"Is none of our business," interrupted Anne, reaching down to curl her fingers around Aramis' cock. "You know if it hadn't been for Athos, I may never have plucked up the courage to kiss you." She began to stroke him to full erection and the gentle slip slide of her palm soon had him moaning with pleasure. "He told me that if I loved you then I should be with you, otherwise I'd only live to regret it."

Aramis lifted her until she was seated astride him, and together they guided him inside her until they were complete. "Then I’m full of remorse," he said, cupping her breasts. "Athos is now promoted to the role of lifelong best friend."

"And I certainly have no regrets," smiled Anne as the talk ended and gave way to another practical demonstration of their love.

If anyone at the Manor had noticed the frequent comings and goings from the little cottage in the woods then they were kind enough never to mention it. As time wore on, he and Anne lacked discretion, often returning early morning having spent the entire night together.

It was on one such day that they breezed in through the back door of the house, later than usual, to find Athos already pottering about the kitchen, making breakfast. He raised an amused eyebrow in their direction, but didn't say a word, yet even so he received a sharp poke in the ribs from Anne.

"Shut up," she scolded.

"What? I never even spoke," he said in mock indignation.

"You didn't need to." She laughed at the mortified expression on his face. "Silly sod. I'm off to have a bath. I'm running late and I must pop over to Rendlesham to talk menus with cook and the staff."

"How the other half live," said Aramis, full of cheeky bravado now that Anne had left the room. Sitting at the table, he accepted a cup of tea with a nod of thanks.

"Don't include me in your generalisations," snorted Athos. "Do I seem the sort to waste money on frivolous things? Although-" He pulled a face. "Actually, I’ve just spent a large amount on a surprise for Porthos. I was wondering whether you'd be good enough to come with me today when I collect it from town?"

The mysterious nature of this request had Aramis immediately accepting the invitation, and within an hour or so they were heading to the station on foot.

"I'm so much fitter than I was when I arrived," said Athos as they strolled up the lane. "It was a struggle to walk even this short distance after lying in a hospital bed for so long." He laughed. "And then a shock to find my home overrun by strangers when I finally reached it. It seems a lifetime ago. A different world."

Aramis had been increasingly convinced that this trip to pick up Porthos' new winter overcoat--or whatever the gift turned out to be--was merely an excuse to warn him away from Anne, despite her pronouncements that Athos was their champion, but now he was not so sure. "Is there a particular reason you've chosen me as your companion today?" he asked.

Athos smirked. "Porthos isn't fit enough and Treville is meeting with the land agent, so, other than Jacques, you were the only chap available. The women were out of the question as I’m incompetent at girlish chatter."

Aramis punched him affectionately on the arm.

"I also felt we needed to talk," added Athos. 

They reached the station at an awkward moment and Aramis watched with growing concern as Athos purchased tickets for the slow train to Liverpool Street which could be heard heralding its arrival with blasts of the steam whistle.

"Good timing," said Athos as they settled themselves into an empty first class compartment. He passed Aramis his hip flask and accepted a cigarette in return.

"Not that I should encourage you to smoke," said Aramis as he lit them up.

"Porthos will tell me off for it tonight," said Athos, suppressing a cough. "But hopefully his present will distract him."

"What is this thing we're collecting?" asked Aramis, his intrigue growing.

"You'll see soon enough," said Athos, leaning forward to retrieve the flask and slipping it back into his pocket. "Aramis, I've been thinking. I realise that you're uncomfortable with the idea of Porthos and I being involved with each other. I also know how much he values your friendship, and so I want you to understand that, if necessary, I will end things between us if you find our relationship unacceptable."

Aramis shook his head in bewilderment, baffled as always by this strange man. "If you think that Porthos regards his friendship with me as more important than the love he feels for you then you're a deluded soul, Athos." He surprised himself with this sentence, not only able to talk of the two men as a couple, but to think of them as one also. In fact, he discovered to his shock, that it was impossible to consider them as anything else. Anne was right; they'd all watched the feelings between Porthos and Athos develop, at a steady pace, into something incredibly deep, even if most were not aware of the true nature of relationship that had evolved from it.

"I'm often deluded," said Athos with a half smile and a puff on his cigarette.

"It was tremendously difficult for me at first,” admitted Aramis. “You and Porthos are at odds with everything I’ve been brought up to believe that’s right," he continued. “But every day it becomes easier to accept when I see how happy you are together."

“Thank you,” said Athos with genuine relief. “I hope the rest of the world can be as forgiving as you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, old thing,” said Aramis, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Many will not be as generous spirited,” said Athos. “Porthos has had a lot to bear already in his life, and I’d hate for him to suffer more because of me.”

“Then be careful,” said Aramis earnestly, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “We must both learn to be as discreet as possible when it comes to our love lives.” He paused. “Anne told me that you were a brick to her and also a staunch supporter of our relationship and, to be honest, I’m surprised. Not so long ago you were furious at us even dancing together.”

Athos threw his cigarette butt out of the window and coughed out the last of the smoke. “I know what she sees in you,” he said.

For a dreadful moment, Aramis was struck by the notion that the man was about to make a pass at him and the horror of this must have been reflected on his face when Athos burst into sudden musical laughter.

“You’re safe in my company,” he chuckled. “I’ve only got eyes for Porthos.” Taking a slug of whisky he passed the hip flask to Aramis. “The moment I met you, I was immediately reminded of my brother. If you’d looked more like him then I’d have probably imagined I was seeing a ghost and fainted dead on the spot. You made the same impression on Anne, and so I’m not in the least bit surprised that she fell for you.” 

“But that still doesn’t explain why you were so angry to begin with,” said Aramis, more confused than ever. “Is Louis a friend of yours?”

Athos huffed dismissively. “Bourbon is a prick and I couldn’t give a fuck about him,” he said with a shrug.

Aramis spluttered with laughter, once again shocked at how coarse the upper classes could be, both Anne and Athos as foul mouthed as sailors at times. 

“Sorry,” smirked Athos. “How can I best explain this?” He sat deep in thought for a while and then touched a forefinger to his temple. “The mind is a strange place. To have Tom die such a horrific death in my arms was too much for mine to cope with. I dreamt of that day endlessly, went mad because of it, and I returned home broken, not wanting to lay him to rest, but to resurrect him. When Anne told me she was married to Louis it hurt, but not terribly so because I knew she’d done it out of duty. However, when I saw her dancing with you, a man so much like Tom, I suppose I had to accept, for the first time, that he was truly gone.”

“Athos, if only you’d told me.” They’d talked, but not enough, Aramis realised.

Athos held up a hand to silence him. “When I came close to losing both Porthos and you, the pain was far worse than any residual sadness over Tom’s death, and so, when you recovered-” He stared out of the window. “Well, then I knew what happiness was and I was finally able to let go and grieve for my brother as I should have done years ago.” He turned to Aramis, his eyes bright with emotion, then full of self-consciousness he smiled sheepishly. “I apologise, my friend. That was a lengthy and extremely dull story. It’s a good thing we’re almost at our stop so I can’t bore you any longer.”

In reality, it was the opposite of boredom that Aramis was feeling. He was overwhelmed at Athos’ words: moved by the comparison to his lost brother and touched that Athos considered their friendship as necessary to him as Porthos’ love. They’d spoken in depth many times before, of the war and of their long months spent in hospital recovering, but Athos had never willingly revealed much about himself. Now here he was, whole again and offering Aramis an honest and open hearted friendship.

“You never bore me,” said Aramis, gripping Athos’ hand and linking their fingers. “Anne is your sister and I am now your brother.”


	21. Chapter 21

Well enough to get out of bed, Porthos relieved himself in the chamber pot then tied the dressing gown cord tightly around his waist and made it the few steps to the easy chair in the window to discover what the commotion was about. Today was out of the ordinary. Not only had all the chaps abandoned him--Treville busy with his land purchase and Athos and Aramis off to London on business--but there were also strange goings on outside. A stout pole had been erected by workmen and now wires were being strung from it.

"Are you supposed to be out of bed?" asked Anne, as she bustled in to collect the lunch tray.

"There's no one here to stop me," grumbled Porthos, his bad temper coming to the fore. "I don't suppose you know what those idiots are up to in London?"

"No." Anne joined him at the window, taking the chair opposite. "Aramis didn't have a clue when he left."

"Typical Athos," muttered Porthos. He'd become so reliant on the man's company that spending a day without him was like trying to go without air. Stupid, he realised, feeling annoyed with himself. "Do you at least know what this is all about?" he added, waving a hand at the work going on outside.

"Now that I _can_ help you with," said Anne. "I'm fed up with being incommunicado when I'm here and so I'm paying to have a telephone line installed."

"Have you told Athos about it?" asked Porthos. The man seemed rigidly against the idea every time it had come up in conversation.

"Of course not," smiled Anne. "He'd have said no, the old fuddy duddy. I'm bringing him, kicking and screaming, into the twentieth century."

Porthos looked at her.

"And perhaps facilitating things for when I leave here," she added with a smile. "I can't keep passing notes to Aramis by bicycle messenger every time I want us to meet up."

"You do know Athos'll kill you?" Porthos grinned, looking forward to seeing the look of incredulity on that handsome face. The man had softened greatly towards everyone, Anne especially, but she still had the power to irritate him more than anyone else on the planet.

"He'll only be mad for a short while," she said with confidence. "Once he finds out what a blessing the telephone can be then he'll be grateful for my interference."

"Anne," called Constance from downstairs. "The salesman is asking for you. The instrument has been installed."

"I suppose he'll spend hours telling me how to use it," said Anne with a slight roll of the eyes. "As if I haven't had my own for years. Still, I must show willing and be polite."

She left the room, taking the tray with her, and Porthos, who'd rarely found use for a telephone up until now, decided that this was an important event at the Manor and that, in lieu of Athos, he should make his way downstairs to supervise.

Back to using both crutches, he stepped into his bedroom slippers and shuffled his way down the corridor, wondering what kind of illness this was that could leave him so utterly debilitated. The trip to the ground floor took its toll on his weakened body and as he rounded the curve of the staircase he faltered, the world spinning, and had to hold on tightly to the bannisters to prevent himself from falling. The crutches clattered away, alerting everyone to his presence.

"Porthos!" exclaimed Constance. "What are you doing out of bed, you foolish man?"

"Came to see what all the fuss was about, didn't I," he said in a gruff voice, allowing her to help him down the home straight.

Sinking gratefully into one of the hall chairs, he regarded the telephone salesman with suspicion. "So, then, mate. Tell me how this thing works. Voices down a wire sounds a bit far fetched to me."

He was teasing of course, having a solid knowledge of communications from his days in the army, but it was entertaining to see a look of fear pass across the man's face as he began to stutter out his spiel, struggling when it came to the complicated matters. One of the engineers took over, his explanation of the technology detailed, and Porthos listened to him with some interest. 

"What's the number?" asked Anne, bored now and impatient with it.

"Woodbridge 12," said the salesman, comforted that he could at last answer a question. "You just pick up the earpiece and speak into-"

"I know, I know," said Anne, her mouth to the telephone. "Operator, connect me to Rendlesham Hall." There was a pause. "Anderson, it's Lady Bourbon at the Manor. Could you please call me on Woodbridge 12," she said and replaced the ear piece.

Moments later, bells jangled loudly and crudely throughout the house.

"It won't do that too often I hope," said Constance with a shudder. 

"Think about it. From now on you'll be able to talk to your sweetie whenever you want to," said Anne as she answered the call. "Hello, Anderson. Yes, all is well here. Just a test call. Goodbye." Placing the instrument back down on the table, she beamed with satisfaction. "This will make the party arrangements so much easier to manage."

"Amongst other things," said Porthos under his breath, a little too loudly if the sharp look he received from Anne was anything to go by. "Now all you have to do is explain to Athos that from now on his life will be disturbed by a constant ringing in his ears."

"I bet you ten guineas he won't even notice anything is different until someone calls," said Anne. "And anyway, to placate him, I've had them install one in the study so he can feel important."

Tired of the mundanities of telephone talk, Porthos struggled to his feet and peered into the rooms that led off the hallway, surprised at how much had changed in such a short time. The Manor was no longer a hospital. The patients and nurses had now moved on, the equipment had been returned and the few beds in the men's isolation ward were the only reminder of what had once gone on here. It was a shock to the system to see it like this and he wasn't yet sure if it was good or bad.

"The Red Cross came to collect what little the army left behind," said Constance.

"And you?" asked Porthos.

"They've left me behind too," she replied. "Luckily Dr Pritchard is in need of a practice nurse so I'll be moving into the village."

"I'm really pleased so many of us are staying in the area," said Porthos and meant it with all his heart. He and Athos had discussed his future at length and had decided, between them, that he should be employed here as estate manager. The land had been allowed to run wild since the war, many cottages vacant and in need of restoration and letting. Rents needed to be collected again and the whole place required a suitable programme of reconstruction to be devised and carried out. It was plenty enough to keep Porthos occupied until he decided what he wanted to do with his life.

Hobbling through into what had once been the recreation room, Porthos was pleased to see it was now turned back into a comfortable lounge. He loved it in here with its huge fireplace and doors to the garden, and could imagine nothing nicer than sharing it of an evening with Athos. The Manor had been his home for over a year now and it had become a part of him, the comfort of it built into his psyche. He'd been rehabilitated here. He'd found both friendship and love and as the sun beamed in through the windows he stretched out on one of the couches and soaked it up, enjoying the serenity of the moment.

Tired from his exertions he dozed off, dreaming of a future he'd never thought possible and was woken up in the nicest of ways with Athos leaning over him, shaking him gently by the shoulder.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he said, an excited smile on his face. "I've a surprise for you."

Porthos sat up and looked around him, but couldn't see anything, other than Aramis beaming at him from the doorway.

"Where?" he frowned.

"Come on, I'll show you," said Athos, tugging him to unsteady feet and fixing his crutches in place.

"It's worth it," said Aramis when Porthos grumbled at being forced to hurry. "It's a very generous present."

He followed behind them as Porthos limped slowly to the front door, guided by Athos.

"Well? What do you think?" said Athos as Porthos stared at the midnight blue Rolls Royce cabriolet that was parked outside, it's chrome work gleaming in the sun. "It's yours. I bought it so you can get around more easily."

Porthos spluttered with horrified laughter. "Are you stark raving bonkers, man?" he said. "Can you honestly see me driving around in that thing?"

"Well, if you don't want it then I'll gladly have it," said Aramis with a shrug.

Porthos felt rotten when he saw the way Athos' face had fallen. "It's an amazing present, but it's too much," he said in an undertone. "I'd have to be your chauffeur."

"I was going to get something smaller, but I looked into it and it was the only car you could drive with your legs as stiff as they are at present," explained Athos. "I know it's a bit showy and we'll get something different later on." He stared entranced at the Rolls and, to Porthos' relief, brightened up again. "But let me at least take you for a drive. It's fantastic. You’ll love it."

Porthos was thrilled at the idea of freedom, but far from prepared for it. "I'm still in my pyjamas," he said.

"Who cares?" Athos encouraged him towards the car, opening the passenger door.

"This isn’t exactly discreet," murmured Porthos as he was helped into the seat.

"Rubbish," said Athos. "We're having a lark, that's all." Once Porthos was safely installed, Athos raced around to the driver's side. "Crank her up please, Aramis," he called, hopping in behind the wheel.

Saluting, Aramis turned the handle and as the engine roared into life Porthos felt the same happening inside of him.

"Bon voyage," called Anne, waving as they drove off.

"You truly are a mad man," laughed Porthos, as he re-tied his dressing gown around him. "I wasn't joking when I said it before."

Athos grinned at him and reached across to squeeze his hand briefly. “Mad about you.”

It was a wonderful feeling to race along the country lanes in the sunshine. Autumn had officially arrived now, but the warm weather wasn’t yet ready to relinquish its hold. Other than the leaves turning to shades of russet and gold, it was hard to believe that they were three quarters of the way through the year.

"You're not getting cold, are you?" said Athos after a while.

"A little," admitted Porthos, wishing he had a travel blanket to fold over his knee.

"I'll stop for a bit." Slowing down as they passed by a pretty roadside pub, Athos turned up the track next to it and parked in a clearing which had views over the sweeping countryside. "We used to meet here on hunting days," he said, lost to a bout of nostalgia. "Father always wanted to be the one to host the local hunt ball, but he wasn't prestigious enough. Too many other landed gentry in the area."

"You sound annoyed about it," said Porthos, wondering who owned the fields directly in front of them. No one should have those kind of rights over the land. Most of the time he never gave a thought to the vast crevasse of a social divide that separated them, but occasionally he felt the weight of his poor birth and different skin colour.

"Quite the opposite actually. I'm glad the world is changing," said Athos. "The sooner the better, I say."

"And what if there's a revolution tomorrow, Lord Lafère?" teased Porthos, toying with Athos' slim fingers that were cocooned inside leather driving gloves. "What if all the peasants like me rise up against you?"

"I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more than you rising up against me," smirked Athos. "Come on, peasant. Let's go for a drink in the pub."

"Athos, I'm wearing my pyjamas," said Porthos incredulously.

"So?" Athos shrugged. "You're also wearing a robe. Keep it tied and then no one will see your cock if it escapes from the flies."

"Athos!"

"It's either that, or I'll have my wicked way with you right here," said Athos with a twinkle in his eye.

Porthos was easily persuaded into mischief. Tempted by both options, he chose the one less likely to land them in jail and with Athos and a crutch as support, he picked his way across the rough ground towards the entrance of the pub.

"Master Athos," said the barman with pleasure as they made their way to the bar. "It's good to see you fit and well."

"And you, Bertrand," said Athos. "I've stolen Porthos here from his hospital bed. I hope you don't mind him being underdressed for the occasion."

"And what occasion would that be, sir?" said Bertrand. 

"Supper, I hope," said Athos as he helped Porthos into a seat by the window. "Two pies and a couple of pints of beer would be much appreciated."

"Fine, as long as I don't have to carry you both home," smiled the landlord.

Porthos enjoyed the way the locals treated Athos with respect and yet a noticeable amount of familial care. "They look after you," he said quietly.

"I like to think it's a reciprocal thing," said Athos. 

"He's good to us and, in turn, we try and stop him from running too wild," said the landlord's daughter as she brought over the drinks. "No more than three now." Her face was stern.

"No more than one today, Jeanne," said Athos. "I'm running in a new motor." He smirked at Porthos then added under his breath: "And a new man."

Relaxed now, Porthos spread his arms out across the wooden back of the bench seat and savoured everything. Twice, he'd narrowly avoided the jaws of death, but it was worth it to be offered the keys to the kingdom in return. "Before I met you I was frightened of my own shadow," he admitted. "The idea of being kicked out of the army terrified me. I couldn't imagine how I was going to get by: coloured, crippled and left to rot. You gave me back my life."

Hidden by the cover of the oak table top, Athos reached out and squeezed his knee. "Another case of reciprocity."

Their dinner arrived and turned out to be good old fashioned hearty fare, the sort that Porthos enjoyed best. It was pleasant enough in the pub that, despite his unconventional attire, he could have enjoyed an entire evening here, but true to his word, after just the one pint, Athos helped Porthos back to the car. 

"Bugger,” he said. "It’s getting dark. We'll have to hurry."

"Have you been reading ghost stories again?" chuckled Porthos. "Or is there something you need to tell me about the villagers?"

"Idiot," said Athos affectionately. "I've never driven at night. I don't even know how the lights work on your car."

" _Your_ car," said Porthos.

"Our car," said Athos as a compromise. "Shared ownership." He smiled. "Though all the paperwork is in your name."

Dusk was deepening by the second and after cranking the engine and locating the switch for the lights, they set off at slow pace down the road, still almost managing to mow down a pedestrian. Athos halted to apologise and to their surprise they discovered it was Treville.

"Small world," said Porthos. 

"Indeed," said Treville. "Although not too many of us will be following the lane to the Manor. Have you borrowed one of Anne's motorcars again?"

"No," said Athos proudly. "This one I've purchased myself. Hop in."

Opening the rear passenger door, Treville sprawled across the leather seat. "Very luxurious," he said. "Seems we've both spent a lot of money today."

"You've bought the farm?" said Athos in delight. "That was quick work."

"The deal was too good to turn down. The bank wanted to recoup its losses and I had the funds available so, after some negotiations, we came to an agreement that suited us both."

"That's bloody marvellous news," said Porthos, turning to smile at the older man. "Now let's get home before we're attacked by Frankenstein's monster." He'd been expanding his reading recently and enjoyed showing off his literary knowledge.

"What?" said Treville.

"Athos is afraid of what lurks in the darkness," he explained with a grin.

"Sod off," said Athos affectionately. "I'm not used to driving and I’ve never done it at night."

As if to prove his point, the gears crunched as he set off down the lane and, after swerving to avoid a badger, he almost crashed the car headlong into a tree. The near miss provoked laughter and it was a rowdy threesome who arrived back at the Manor, all of them in ebullient mood as they piled in through the door.

Treville’s eyes widened when he finally noticed Porthos’ inappropriate state of dress. "You went out for a drive in your night clothes?"

"Not only that," chuckled Porthos. "This idiot here dragged me into the pub for a pie and a pint."

"You _are_ joking," said Treville, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, I might not approve of your choice of attire, but a drink sounds like a grand idea. We really should celebrate our good health and good fortune today."

“We should,” agreed Porthos, although there were other ways he would prefer to be celebrating. Exhilarated by an afternoon of fresh air and perfect company, his head and heart were full of love.

After retrieving an excellent single malt from the secret supply in the study, they reconvened in the lounge. Porthos was shattered but monumentally happy and, stretched out on one of the sofas, he accepted a tumbler of whisky from Athos with a smile.

Joined in turn by Constance and then Anne and Aramis, the celebration turned into an impromptu party, spirits of all kinds in abundance as Treville bashed out tunes on the piano. Neither Porthos nor Athos, however, were in the mood to overindulge. Divided by the sculpted expanse of a Chinese rug, they took part in the conversation, but constantly sought each other out, any separation too much to bear after the joyful few hours they’d just spent together.

In the end Porthos could stand it no longer. "I'm tired," he said, glancing, once again, across the room at Athos. "I'm going to turn in. I'll see you all tomorrow." 

After a lengthy round of 'goodnights', he struggled up to the bathroom and, having finished his ablutions, opened the door of the medicine cabinet, reaching for a small bottle of olive oil that he’d discovered in there a few days ago, hidden away at the back. It was felted with a thick layer of dust and probably hadn't been touched since the days of childhood earache, but he had a very different use in mind for it--a pleasurable one he hoped--and after rinsing it under the tap, he squirreled it away in his pocket.

Retiring to the bedroom, he stripped off and climbed naked into bed, wrapping a hand around his aching cock that was already at full hardness in anticipation of a night of lovemaking. He hoped this seduction wouldn’t appear too planned on his part, but Athos had already spoken of wanting him completely and to wait any longer would be torture.

Nervous, needing everything to be perfect, he opened the olive oil, checking to make sure that it hadn’t turned rancid with age. It was still sweetly scented and, reassured, he replaced the cap and tucked it under his pillow for use later. Glancing at his watch, he then poured two glasses of Glenfiddich from the bottle they always kept in the drawer, sipping at the whisky as he turned the pages of a book, barely able to read a word. 

Finally the door opened and Athos came in. "I waited half an hour," he said with a smile. "It was the longest thirty minutes of my life. They're still in full swing downstairs so I doubt they’ll miss us."

“I missed you,” said Porthos, putting his book down and holding his arms. “Come here.”

In a ritual that wasn’t fooling anyone, Athos rumpled his own neatly made bed then undressed, folding his clothes and placing them on the chair.

“You won’t be needing pyjamas,” said Porthos as Athos went to take a fresh pair out of the drawer.

“No?” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “Whyever not?”

“Get your arse over here now,” said Porthos, his voice dirty with need. He watched with excitement the way that Athos reacted to his words. The man was a picture, his cock stiffening to full erection, eyes darkening as his tongue swiped at his lips. Porthos had never experienced a problem bedding a woman, but this extreme level of desire was new to him. “I love you,” he said.

“I’ll never love anyone else,” replied Athos solemnly as he slid into the bed and pulled up the blankets.

"I want to see you,” said Porthos, pushing them back down. “I want you. Every bit of you.”

Athos hitched in a breath. “Show me,” he murmured, leaning in close.

He was hard against Porthos’ hip and Porthos reached for him, hand stroking, mouth searching out kisses. He could feel Athos’ heart hammering at double time and he began to worry, wondering whether fear was at the root of it.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, smoothing Athos’ hair back, peppering his skin with tiny touches of his lips. “We’ll not do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I’ll never find out what’s uncomfortable at this rate,” said Athos, nudging insistently against him.

“Impatient sod,” said Porthos, relieved to discover that Athos was pushy with excitement rather than burdened with anxiety. He fumbled under the pillow for the bottle of oil. “I thought this might help us get started.”

“You think of everything,” said Athos with a cheeky smile. 

He was pliant in Porthos’ arms, warm and relaxed despite the racing heartbeat, and wetting his hand with the oil, Porthos gripped Athos’ cock, pulling him off always a delight, but even more so with such a slick palm.

Lifting his legs and letting them part, Athos urged Porthos on with quiet moans and a canting of his hips. Porthos was entranced, fondling him then moving downwards to explore further. He was breathless, had forgotten even how to breathe, and he circled the tight ring of muscle with his forefinger, dipping his head for kisses as he did so. 

“More,” insisted Athos, hooking his arm around Porthos’ neck and drawing him in closer.

They melded together and Porthos pushed a little more forcefully, groaning with delight as Athos' body gave way to him. Aware that he was being rather too noisy he silenced himself, taking Athos' mouth, sucking at his tongue as he learned him inside and out in fine detail. The muffled sounds Athos made in response were glorious and, shivering with desire, he rocked against Porthos' hand, fucking himself on his fingers. 

A few more minutes of this and Porthos was already fighting the need to come. Senses on overload, his body aching for release, he rolled instinctively onto Athos, sprawling over him, the head of his cock slipping naturally into position.

“I think perhaps you should move to all fours,” he suggested. "It might be easier."

“No, not yet. Stay like this and see how we manage,” gasped Athos. “Please, Porthos. I’d rather be able to see you.” He cradled Porthos’ face. “Kiss you whenever I want.”

Propped on an elbow, Porthos slicked them both with oil and as Athos curled around him, he positioned himself and thrust in, crying out at the indescribable heat, incredible tightness surrounding him. 

“God, love,” he muttered. “Are you all right? It must hurt.”

“I’m fine,” said Athos, but his teeth were clenched and there was a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“No, no,” said Porthos, desperately afraid of causing him harm. “We’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Athos. “Not yet. Let’s give it a chance at least.” He arched against Porthos, his desire obvious, tempered a little by pain but by no means completely gone. “Kiss me.”

Suspended in heaven, Porthos held Athos in a tight embrace, throwing every ounce of the love, the adoration he felt into slow swipes of tongue. Gradually Athos relaxed and, inch by inch, Porthos slid deeper inside him until they were joined completely. Being together like this, making love fully for the first time in his life, was an extraordinary new high.

Wrapped up in each other, they moved to an ancient dance of bodies. A new angle and sudden shunt of the hips had Athos gasping, arching for more. “Again,” he begged. “Just like that.”

Porthos kissed that pretty, pouty mouth, then took Athos by surprise and rolled them over, still joined, so that their positions were reversed. “Do what feels good for you,” he said with a grin, giving Athos free rein to play.

Splaying a hand on Porthos’ chest, Athos raised himself up until there was a scant inch connecting them, then with a long drawn out sigh of pleasure he dropped, taking all of Porthos into him and gyrating his hips slowly.

Wetting his hand with oil, Porthos took hold of Athos’ cock, working the skin with his fingers, thumbing the head and then stroking him off with a steady jerk of his hand until they found their perfect rhythm again. They fucked, slow and steady giving way to fast and furious until, utterly abandoned now, Athos threw back his head and cried out ecstatically as he came. Grabbing hold of those narrow hips, Porthos held him in place and thrust upwards, finishing off inside this man, his perfect man, who had been made for him. 

"That was astonishing," said Athos as he sank down onto Porthos' chest, oblivious of the mess he had left there. "Amazing." He huffed with laughter. "I only wish the walls here were a foot thicker. We neither of us are good at being quiet."

"I can't possibly be quiet with you," said Porthos, folding his arms around Athos and enjoying the transient sensation of being soft but still joined. "Everyone should know how much I love you."

"Everyone probably does after our performance tonight,” smirked Athos.


	22. Chapter 22

With absolutely no interest in parties or the planning of them, Athos was struck dumb when Anne asked him who he'd like to invite to the do she was arranging. His only friends were either here or dead.

"Porthos," he replied with an amused twist of the lips. "Other than that you can invite the Devil himself for all I care."

"You're no use at all," said Anne, in a fit of temper. "Never have been. Never will be."

Athos brushed off her comments with a disinterested wave of the hand as he sat at the kitchen table with his feet up, reading the local paper. "There are some horses advertised in here. I know the breeder; he rears decent stock and it seems they're being sold off at a knockdown price. I wonder when Porthos will be fit enough enough to ride."

"Porthos, Porthos, Porthos," grumbled Anne. "All you ever think of is Porthos."

It was true, Athos conceded and he flashed her a winning smile. "Where's your sweetheart today?"

"In here," shouted Aramis from the scullery. "She has me doing dishes while yours is still lounging in bed."

"He needs his rest," said Athos. "Especially after last night," he added with a smirk.

Aramis appeared in the doorway, drying his hands on a tea towel and frowning. "I did not need to hear that," he said.

"He only does it to annoy," said Anne, pinching Athos as she wandered past. "I told you he was a beast. No one ever believes me."

"I'm beginning to," said Aramis, narrowing his eyes. 

Athos bathed in the warmth of having a brother to tease once again. "So, old chap," he said. "I need your professional opinion. When do you think Porthos will be fit enough to go riding?"

"Never," came a gruff voice from behind him. "I hated getting on those things during basic training. I'm not doing it again."

"It'll be different with me teaching you." Athos tipped his head back and smiled up at Porthos who had appeared in the kitchen, dressed ready for the day and looking healthy and utterly gorgeous.

"Posh boy's sports," the big man growled. "You'll have me playing polo next."

"I don’t give a damn about games, but will you please learn to ride?" persisted Athos, employing the most hopeful expression in his repertoire. As Porthos' hands descended onto his shoulders he was grounded and floating, all at the same time. "It would be useful to you as my estate manager."

"I'll think about it," said Porthos.

"If you can find a docile enough horse, with some help getting on and off he should be fit enough by next month," said Aramis.

"Excellent," said Athos, folding the newspaper. "I'll telephone the owners."

Porthos clamped him in position, those huge paws pushing him down, fingers kneading at his muscles. "I only said I'll think about it," he muttered.

Aramis sighed in a show of despair. "Porthos, stop trying to be awkward. Athos, go make the telephone call and arrange to see the horses. You both do exactly what the other wants, so let's not bother with this stubborn pretence."

"But what about my party?" said Anne.

"Hang your party," said Porthos in a gruff voice. "What about my breakfast?"

Whilst Porthos was shovelling down a bowlful of porridge and honey, Athos made a rather stilted telephone call to the stud farm and, having agreed upon a late morning appointment, he then wandered up to his own stables, smoking a crafty cigarette on the way that he’d stolen from Aramis’ pack. The building was damp and purposeless, missing its former occupants, and if he listened carefully he could still hear a faint whickering from the past. 

“You hankering after your old life?” said Porthos, catching him by surprise.

“No, not at all,” said Athos, stubbing out his cigarette carefully and then moving towards Porthos, settling into his arms. “On the contrary, I’ve never been happier than I am now.” He nuzzled into Porthos’ neck. “But I do miss the horses.”

“And Thomas,” added Porthos.

“And Tom,” agreed Athos. “Though not as much as I once did, thanks to you and Aramis.”

Full of unequivocal joy they kissed a sweet hello, then, tucked away in this safe haven, they risked a little more and took great mouthfuls of each other, licking and sucking at tongues. In no time at all they were ready for sex, but neither of them were foolhardy enough to dare doing anything about it in public view and so close to the house.

"I could spend all day here with you," said Porthos, pressing Athos back into the corner, holding him by the wrists and rocking up against him.

"You will do soon enough when I'm teaching you to ride." Athos let out a sudden burst of laughter.

"What's so funny?" growled Porthos.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Athos freed a hand and reached out to stroke Porthos' cheek. "I can't quite believe this is real. I'd ask you to pinch me, but I don't want to wake up."

"Think how I feel," said Porthos. "I never had a home before now." 

He gulped, emotional and raw, and Athos held on to him, keeping him safe in his arms. The equality of this was precious to him. They were both protector and protected, taking turns at each when the moment called for it. "I was lost before and I'd be lost again without you," he said.

An hour later, dressed in overcoats and kitted out in hats and scarves, they set off for the Masters' stud farm, Porthos doing the driving, shaky with exhaustion still, but confident enough in his skills that Athos felt safe as a passenger.

"You're a good driver," he shouted. "You're bound to make an excellent rider."

Porthos grinned. "This has brakes and an accelerator pedal. I understand the mechanics. A horse will do whatever it wants to do, and if it takes a disliking to you then you're in trouble."

"Got thrown, I take it?" asked Athos. 

"First time I sat on one of the bloody things." Porthos frowned. "On my back, straight onto the cobblestones and it bloody hurt." He glanced at Athos. "Don't mind telling you I'm terrified of damaging my legs even more."

"I'd never let that happen," said Athos gently. "We won't even think about riding until we find the right horse for you and, even then, not until Aramis has pronounced you well enough." He was angry with himself for pushing Porthos into something he was obviously uncomfortable with. "I'm sorry for being an arse."

Porthos looked at him. "You're not an arse." He guffawed with laughter. "Though you do have a really pretty one that I enjoy taking advantage of all too often."

Often wasn't the word for it. Addiction was more appropriate. Athos loved nothing more than being fucked hard, in every position and in every way, by Porthos. He stiffened now at the thought of it.

"Tell me where I'm going, or we'll be late for our appointment," added Porthos, knocking Athos out of his reverie and returning him, with a jolt, to the real world.

The farm was more run down than Athos remembered, though the horses in the paddocks looked supremely well looked after.

"Your Lordship," said Masters. "It's good to have you home."

Athos offered him a handshake. "No need for formality," he said. "Now, what's going on here?"

"The wife and I are selling up and retiring," said Masters, surveying the place with more than a little regret. "There's no demand for horses around here, the way things are at present. Not enough profit in the business to sell as a going concern, and neither of my daughters want to take over the reins."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Masters," said Athos. "I'm definitely after two animals today, possibly three. Maybe more in the near future. This is my estate manager, Mr Vallon, and I need to teach him to ride as soon as possible, so we're in the market for something seventeen hands plus, very steady natured."

Marsters looked Porthos up and down, surprised that a black man was being offered such a responsible position, but he didn't comment on the matter and, for that, Athos was greatly relieved. If he had done then their business meeting would inevitably have ended in an argument rather than the purchase of livestock. 

After the customary polite round of greetings, all three men wandered over to the railings.

"The dark bay mare will make a lovely hunter." Masters pointed out a pretty looking horse. "She's a good youngster with excellent lineage and she'll do you well, sir. The grey gelding in the top corner of the field is out of Dreamscape and sired by Prince Josef. He's plenty big enough for Mr Vallon and is another fine horse, but probably no use for a beginner."

Athos watched Porthos limp over to a motheaten dun animal that was standing apart from the others and looking hopefully at him over the rail. The horse was a scrawny beast, but it was tall and broad and must have once carried a hefty amount of muscle. It whinnied plaintively at Porthos who stroked the blaze on its forehead.

"What about that one?" asked Athos.

Masters laughed. "He's a sad case. The owner's son died in the war and Geoffrey there was neglected in a field. He's got no form on him at all, as you can see, and he doesn't seem to want to pick any up."

There was an instant connection between Porthos and the horse and when that happened the bond often proved to be unbreakable. "How's his temperament?" asked Athos.

"He's as good natured as he's ugly and he might do well as your teaching horse, provided you can get him fitter," said Masters thoughtfully, patting a black retriever who'd come bounding over from the stableyard to greet them. "If you pay an honest price for the other two then I'll throw him in for free. How about that for a deal?"

"Sounds fair to me," said Athos. 

An amount was agreed upon in gentlemanly fashion, and Athos made arrangements to take ownership of the animals as soon as the stable roof at the Manor had been repaired. Once the cheque had changed hands, Masters left them to it. Probably racing off to pay the money into a bank account that was sadly lacking in funds, Athos thought as he wandered over to where Porthos was still chatting away to the motheaten gelding.

"Come and visit our new horses," he encouraged, opening the paddock gate.

"Not too sure about that," said Porthos, clearly nervous of being in a field full of large animals.

"Well, at least come and say a proper hello to your new training partner." Athos ushered Porthos in and shutting the gate behind them, he led the way over to the old fellow in the corner. "He’s called Geoffrey. He won't be ready to ride until he's got some condition on him." He smirked. "A bit like you really, but he's all yours if you want him."

"You can't keep buying me presents,' muttered Porthos, but his hand was already resting, in proprietary fashion, on the horse's neck.

"I didn't," said Athos, pointing out his newly acquired hunters. "I bought these two, but this old thing was free to a good home. He's broken down and no one wants him."

The expression on Porthos' face was both painful and wonderful to behold. "We have a good home," he said with a glimmer of tears in his eyes. "We'll look after him." 

"We will," agreed Athos, relieved that he'd had the sense to look for heart in an animal rather than other less important attributes.

Porthos was quiet on the drive home, letting Athos take the steering wheel and sitting silently in the passenger seat, staring out at the countryside. Increasingly worried that he'd done something wrong, Athos pulled the car up a small track and into the old Garouville farm that was now owned by Treville.

"I'm sorry if I've messed things up," he said, panic building inside him.

Porthos looked up. "You haven't," he said. "How could you have? You do so much for me and I'm just like that horse, battered and broken with nothing to offer you in return."

"But you're everything," said Athos in confusion. "You've made me feel secure for the first time in my whole life. A hundred motor cars can't repay that. Please just love me."

"Always," said Porthos, leaning over to kiss Athos and then howling in pain. "Ow cramp. Fucking legs ruining the fucking moment. Ow."

He climbed out of the car, yelping in agony and then stumbling over and falling into the unkempt grass, fighting against his ravaged muscles. 

Athos was with him in a second, kneeling between his thighs and massaging the contorted limbs.

"What must we looked like?" Porthos muttered once the pain had started to subside.

"Like I fuck you, rather than the reverse," said Athos with a smirk.

Porthos began to snort with laughter and then his hysterics grew and he absolutely roared, releasing all those pent up emotions. "Oh Christ, Athos," he gasped, thumping his chest. "You can't possibly know how much I need you."

Need was a wicked word. Mirth gave way to passion and Athos blanketed himself over Porthos, licking into his beautiful mouth, then nipping at his lower lip. Downwards he moved, kissing the ridge of his adam's apple, the hollow of his throat, the tuft of hair revealed by an open collar. Down he moved, unclipping braces and lifting the shirt to suck kisses onto Porthos' belly, dipping his tongue into the hollow of his navel as he unfastened Porthos' trousers with fingers that trembled from excitement.

"We really shouldn't," said Porthos, but his words turned into soft groans of pleasure as Athos took him into his mouth.

It was incredibly dangerous to be out in public in broad daylight, doing this wonderful thing that was, in the eyes of society and the law, a criminal act. But along with danger came excitement and Athos fumbled for his own cock, freeing himself moments before spilling inside his clothing.

"Jesus," muttered Porthos, witnessing how very much Athos was enjoying this. "You beauty of a man," he continued and with a loud sigh he thrust upwards and came into Athos' mouth.

"That was good," said Athos as they tidied themselves up.

"That was foolish," corrected Porthos and hauling Athos against him, he threaded a hand into his hair and kissed him softly. "No more nonsense like that from now on, eh?"

"No one saw," said Athos, but they easily could have done and he knew that Porthos was right. "I'll try and behave with decorum from now on," he said. "But you must promise to stop getting cramp. It's far too much of a turn on for me."


	23. Chapter 23

With Athos occupied getting the stables ready for the horses and Anne busy organising her party, Aramis spent long days with Porthos, designing a new exercise programme to help remobilise his legs, whilst slowly increasing his stamina.

"What are you going to do for work when you leave here?" said Porthos as he lifted the weights that had been attached to his ankles.

Aramis looked up from his newspaper where he'd been studiously ignoring the Situations Vacant section for the last hour. There wouldn't be a problem finding a position, but he was still hopeful that he could convince Anne to leave Louis and come away with him.

"It depends," he said cautiously and then remembered it was Porthos he was talking to: a man he would trust with his life. "If I can persuade Anne to go with me then we should move as far away from here as possible."

Porthos looked worried. "That would cause one hell of a scandal, my friend."

Aramis frowned, still slightly put out that his own love life was turning into more of a drama than Porthos' homosexual affair. "We love each other, so anything is possible."

"But for her reputation to remain intact it would mean that you'd have convince Louis to admit to adultery, and from what Athos says he's a slimy little creep who's unlikely to do anything but cause trouble. Certainly, he won't be keen on helping his wife get a divorce."

Aramis unstrapped the weights from Porthos' legs, irritable from yet another round of 'Athos said'. "It's time for your morning constitutional,” he instructed as he helped Porthos to his feet, then added: "And Athos doesn't always know everything,"

"Maybe not, but he does know Louis Bourbon," said Porthos as he buttoned his shirt and pulled on a jumper. "Am I doing this walk with or without crutches today?"

"See how you manage with just a stick," said Aramis. "You're much steadier on your feet now. You need to stop relying on the crutches and I'll be there if you need help."

Bundled up in thick coats, they braved the chilly morning air and took a turn around the garden keeping, at first, to the rambling network of flagstone paths.

"Anne and I could run off somewhere abroad," mused Aramis. "Spain, perhaps. I'm sure they need doctors there and we’re both fluent in the lingo. We could say that we're married. No one would ever know."

"How would she feel about living that kind of lie?" asked Porthos as they took a right turn and followed the drive up to the stables. 

"I don't know," said Aramis, falling headlong into a well of misery. "It's so much easier for you."

“You are joking?” Porthos stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him in amazement. "Athos and I could end up in prison because of our relationship, whereas you and Anne will just be a scandalous topic in the society pages for a few months. We know the risks we’re taking and it’s bloody frightening. You seriously think we don't worry about what we’re doing?"

"I know and I'm sorry for trivialising it," said Aramis remorsefully. "But at least you can lead the life you want to whilst you're here at the Manor. Anne and I don’t have that luxury.”

“Only because neither of us had any attachments when we met,” said Porthos. “If the world was a fairer place then we wouldn't have to hide how we feel about each other."

"The same could be said about my situation," said Aramis.

"I suppose so," conceded Porthos cagily, although it was clear he didn’t think there was too much similarity.

"What I'll probably end up doing is working in one of the rural practices around here,” said Aramis. “At least then I’ll be able to see Anne whenever she's available." It wasn't the ideal solution, but it would be better than nothing. 

Rounding the curve of the long driveway, Porthos let out a groan of exasperation. "What is my idiot man doing up there?" 

Aramis laughed. No-one could ever accuse Athos of being a typical member of the aristocracy. At present he was sitting on the stable roof, dressed in vest and trousers, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he hammered roofing tiles back into place.

"How many more risks do you want to take?" yelled Porthos. “Smoking. Stripped off down to your skivvies on a freezing cold day.”

"Hardly my skivvies," said Athos, stubbing out his fag and climbing down the ladder.

“How about I fetch you a gun so you can play Russian Roulette while you’re at it?” grumbled Porthos, handing Athos his shirt and pullover. “You promised me you’d look after yourself.” 

"I’m fine. Stop mothering me," said Athos, clapping Porthos on the shoulder. "You're supposed to be exercising."

"What the hell else do you think I'm doing hobbling around your park?" said Porthos, glowering at him, but the way he covered Athos’ hand with his own told a contrasting story of feelings that had little to do with anger. "You’re the bloody landowner, love. Pay someone else to fix things."

"It was just a couple of loose tiles on a low roof," muttered Athos. "Hardly worth a telephone call."

There was something so incredibly heartwarming about the concerned bickering and the way Porthos fastened up the buttons on Athos' shirt that it pushed Aramis too close to tears for comfort.

"The hay and feed are being delivered this afternoon," said Athos, brightening visibly. "Tomorrow's the big day. Masters' grooms are delivering the horses first thing in the morning."

"Don't let Anne hear you say that," said Aramis, corralling his wayward emotions. It would not be the done thing to be seen crying with joy over his friends’ illicit love affair. "The party's the day after and, according to her, it's going to be the biggest event in history. At very least in the history of your house."

"Not difficult to achieve," said Athos, pulling a face. "I'll wear my best bib and tucker and try to look happy, but the best day for me will be the one that follows on from it, once all the fuss and nonsense is over."

Aramis tended to agree. As far as he was concerned this party was not only an inconvenience, it was also an unnecessary risk. With people invited from all around the district, he wouldn't be able to spend any time with Anne. More than one or two dances would arouse suspicion, and the last thing he wanted was for them to get caught out by any of Louis' cronies, though it could prove to be a solution to their problem, albeit a somewhat sordid one.

With Porthos' exercises finished for the day and the stables set up to Athos' satisfaction, all three men strolled back to the house.

Life at the Manor had become a confusing mix of family normality, secrets and half told truths. They dined together in the evenings, eating food that they'd all had a hand in preparing. They cleared up together afterwards and then sat in the lounge: Treville and Athos discussing plans for their land, Anne and Constance going through invitation lists and ticking off replies, whilst the other two read newspapers and listened to the wireless, discussing the goings on in the world.

Aramis honestly didn't know what to make of it. It was a cosy situation that turned slightly farcical at bedtime when friends sloped off separately to couple up in private and become the lovers they had been all along. 

"Treville's told me that he's moving out in the next few days," said Aramis as he and Anne lay in bed that night. "If he goes before Louis' return then we should give up this pretence and sleep together in the house, even if it's just for a short while."

"That would be lovely," sighed Anne. "Though I've grown fond of our little cottage. Porthos has promised me that it'll be his first renovation project once he begins the schedule of works."

Aramis imagined those occasional afternoon liaisons, all that would be left of their affair in the future, and couldn't manage to summon up anything other than a slight sense of dread. "I realise I can't have you all to myself, but I want it so much."

"I know," sighed Anne, curling up against him. "Do you sometimes think it would have been better if we'd never allowed ourselves to fall in love?"

Aramis clung to her, quite horrified by the idea. "No, of course not," he said. "Anyway, I fell for you the moment I saw you."

"Me too," said Anne, stifling a yawn as she buried herself in the crook of his neck. "Goodnight, my darling."

Aware that he wouldn't be hearing those words for much longer, Aramis tried his best to stay awake, listening to the soft sound of Anne's breathing. Sleep, though, inevitably lured him in and he awoke, what seemed like moments later, to the raucous sound of wood pigeons and jackdaws squabbling outside the broken window. It was another freezing cold day and he pulled the thick eiderdown quilt around them, checking his watch and deciding that another five minutes in bed would be justified. The lie in, however, was disrupted moments later by the clopping sound of horses' hooves, accompanied by some loud whinnying.

"What sort of time is this?" he grumbled, getting up to look out of the window and seeing a procession of animals pass by the cottage on their way up the drive.

"Horse time," smiled Anne. "The grooms will have been up for hours, mucking out and feeding. "Come on. Let's go and visit the newcomers."

Still grumbling, Aramis had a splash wash in a bucket of ice cold water and threw on yesterday's clothes. By the time he was dressed, Anne was already waiting for him at the cottage door. She was young and excitable, recounting the days when she and the Lafère boys were inseparable friends, out hunting and hacking across the countryside.

"You do know that Thomas won't be there?" said Aramis, interrupting her storytelling.

"Of course he won't. He's dead." Anne cocked her head to one side and stared at him thoughtfully. "I do want him back, but only as a brother. Having met you, I realise now that Tom and I were just children, playing at being in love."

It was the first time, since he and Anne had become involved, that Aramis had been brave enough to mention her former fiancé and the outcome of it was far better than he'd predicted. "I'll race you to the stables," he said, all of a sudden overwhelmed with happiness. Louis had never truly been the hurdle.

With a burst of girlish laughter Anne dashed off, not waiting for the customary _ready, steady, go_ and Aramis chased after her, both of them puffed out by the time they reached the yard.

"I won," she gasped in delight. "You're a slow coach."

"And you're a cheat," said Aramis as they wandered off to explore the outbuildings.

The stables were no longer the half derelict shambles they'd been when Aramis had found Athos hiding here on his first day back at the Manor. Now every stall was clean and dry. The tack room was full of shining equipment and Jacques marched about the place, pleased as punch at being offered the role of head groom. As yet, he had no under grooms and nor was he likely to get any, but he was still a very proud lad.

Two beautiful animals stood like majestic statues in the cobbled yard with Athos between them holding their head collars and talking softly to them. "The bay’s called Sonnet and the grey is Murphy," he said. "Aren't they fantastic?"

"And the old wreck in the corner?" asked Aramis, his eyes drawn to the fleabitten beast that was cowering away from the rest.

"That's Porthos," said Athos, with a smirk.

"I heard that," growled Porthos who was unexpectedly fussing over the old nag.

"I hadn't finished," said Athos innocently. "That's Porthos' new friend, Geoffrey. He's going to teach him to ride when they're both fit enough."

"Mr Masters says you can keep the tack, your Lordship," said one of the grooms as Jacques prepared to take them back to the farm in the pony and trap.

"Thank him from me." Bidding them farewell, Athos swung up onto the bay. "Do you ride?" he asked Aramis.

"I used to," said Aramis, itching to get into the saddle again after so long. 

"Porthos, do you mind if we take them out?" said Athos as he circled the mare and brought her to a halt in front of the big man and his new charge.

"Not one bit," said Porthos, feeding Geoffrey lumps of sugar from his pocket. “As long as I don’t have to risk my neck.”

"I'll keep him busy with party preparations," laughed Anne.

Porthos shuddered dramatically. "Geoff and I have stuff to do. You lot go off and do your riding and your menus. Us two will be just fine."

"See you later then," said Athos with an undisguisable whoop of delight as he set off at a canter on Sonnet. 

Aramis followed him down the lane and across into the fields opposite, feeling a need to let out a similar expression of joy. Riding was freedom and Murphy was a riotous animal, with an engine inside him that never stopped accelerating.

Time flew away from them and it was a happy, if rather muddy pair of men who returned to the stables, hours later, to find Porthos still getting acquainted with Geoffrey.

"You two must have a lot to talk about," said Athos as he dismounted, handing Sonnet's reins to Jacques.

"We do indeed," said Porthos. "Besides, anything's better than being up at the house."

"Why?" asked Aramis, getting down off Murphy.

"The party of the century has landed," said Porthos, his eyes wide. "Half the staff of Rendlesham Hall are here making sure everything is perfect for tomorrow. I only hope we survive this."

It all sounded dreadfully ominous, thought Aramis and as they abandoned the horses for more social pursuits and once again headed back home, the bustle of activity could be detected from at least two hundred yards away.

A day later, survival seemed even less likely. If Anne hadn't been so excited, and divine because of it, Aramis would have skipped out and spent the entire evening down the pub, taking his friends with him -- an escape venture for which all the chaps would have been inordinately grateful. Instead, he gritted his teeth and stepped cautiously down the stairs.

Kitted out in his new evening suit, made for him by one of the tailors on Savile Row, Aramis checked his reflection in the hall mirror, then, stealing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he wandered over to lurk next to Treville, who was looking equally as uncomfortable, if not more.

"Mess dinners I can handle," the older man said gruffly, "but this is a different kettle of fish." He looked over to where Athos was neatening Porthos' bow tie, both men hidden away, deep in the recess of the stairwell. "Is something going on between those two?" he asked.

Put on the spot, Aramis quailed. He hated lying. Everything was a lie nowadays. "They're the best of friends," he said, choosing his words carefully. This was nothing but the truth. The fact that they were also lovers was irrelevant to anyone but them.

"I'm aware of that," said Treville, aiming a pointed stare at him.

He should have denied the charge outright, Aramis realised, but it was too late for that now.

The guests began to arrive in dribs and drabs and the widening chasm between old and young was truly a sight to behold. Matriarchs of the local families still dressed modestly in full length gowns and corsets, whilst the younger women's hemlines had raised considerably, many of them almost reaching the knee.

Some of the men in attendance tonight were very much battle scarred from the war, and Aramis found himself concentrating on them. One in particular held his attention. He was clearly suffering from the effects of shell shock and had been dragged here under duress by his parents. Out of his depth, he was happy to sit in the relative peace of the hallway and talk to someone who understood what he was going through. This proved to be a cathartic experience for both of them. The young fellow--James was his name--reminded Aramis very much of a close army friend, Marsac, who’d lost his mind and then his life to the trenches.

Aramis looked up in annoyance when their quiet conversation was disturbed by a rowdy bunch of late arrivals who had turned up at the Manor, already tanked up on booze. Dressed in every affectation of current style, their leader was short, blond and loud mouthed, marching in as if he owned the place. Aramis took an instant disliking to him and stood up ready to make his feelings known.

"Excuse me," he said. "There's no need for such an impolite entrance. Keep it down or leave."

The man looked up at him, a supercilious expression on his face. "Who do you think you are, speaking to me in such an obnoxious fashion? Have you any idea whom you're addressing?"

"I couldn't give a damn," said Aramis, folding his arms resolutely.

Hearing the beginnings of an argument, Anne hurried over and intervened before things grew any more heated. "Rochefort. I don't remember inviting you," she said in an ice cold voice.

"Oh." He shrugged dismissively. "I assumed it was an oversight on your part, my dear."

The gloved hand Rochefort laid on her forearm made Aramis' skin crawl and it appeared, from the way Anne backed off from him, that it had the same effect on her.

"Your husband asked me to attend," he continued in silky tones. "He's missing you very much indeed and wanted me to report back on how beautiful you looked tonight. He couldn't quite understand why you'd host a party at the Manor rather than at Rendlesham Hall."

"I've been working here," said Anne with a frown.

"Work is a concept Lord Rochefort is unfamiliar with," said Athos, stepping up to confront the group of newcomers with Porthos, as always, at his shoulder.

"On the contrary, Lafère," said Rochefort. "I was in a reserved occupation. Necessary to the good of the country, unlike you."

Athos laughed. "Since when has cowardice been considered essential to the war effort?"

"Take that back," retorted Rochefort, but then his expression changed and he sneered at Athos. "The way I _took_ your fiancée." He snorted derisively. "Not a difficult task, by the way. She couldn't wait to get away from you. Practically fell into my arms. She's dead now, you know." He looked to the woman on his left. "I have a replacement."

Pulling back his arm, Athos let loose and his fist slammed into Rochefort's jaw. 

The man fell backwards, nursing his chin. "What did you do that for?" he asked incredulously, stumbling to his feet.

"To see what it felt like." Athos grinned at his friends. "It felt good."

Unable to help himself, Aramis began to chuckle at the little man whose feathers were so ruffled that he looked like a furious peacock. Porthos joined in and then Anne, whilst Athos just beamed with pleasure. Their laughter grew even louder when Rochefort gathered his entourage around him and marched indignantly into the drawing room, snatching up a glass of champagne on the way.

"I hope you didn't smash his little monocle," snorted Porthos, patting Athos on the back. "That would have properly spoilt his evening."


	24. Chapter 24

The kitchen now overrun by a swarm of borrowed staff and cooks, Porthos took Athos upstairs to tend to the broken skin on his knuckles.

"Don't go hitting anyone again," he said as he rinsed away the blood and dabbed witchhazel onto the grazes. "You're a delicate flower."

"Cheeky sod," grinned Athos. "Would a delicate flower have been able to floor Rochefort with one blow the way I did?"

"You packed a punch," admitted Porthos. "Though he was only a tiny little fellow. I hardly even noticed him."

"You really are looking for trouble," smirked Athos, squaring up to him in fun. "I'll be demonstrating my brute strength on you in a minute."

"Oh, will you," said Porthos. "Then I'll be putting you in your place straight after."

Unprepared for the kind of attack that was about to take place, Porthos found himself pushed back against the door, his arms full of hungry adrenalised man, the kisses biting and beautiful.

"Hey, enough now," said Porthos, dragging his mouth away, never more tempted than when Athos was hyped up in this way. The man's eyes shone with arousal, his cock was thick inside his suit trousers and, God, Porthos wanted him like he'd never wanted him before. He knew better though, despite the fact that Athos was increasingly hard to resist, and the interruption from a persistent knocking at the door proved timely.

"Excuse me," came a drunken voice, "but I'm dying for the lav."

Unfastening the bolt, Porthos hoped it didn't seem too odd to have two chaps emerging from the locked bathroom, but the fellow was too far gone on champagne to notice. About to make his way back to the dreaded party, Porthos was waylaid by Athos who raced in front of him and barred his way, an artful look in his eyes.

"Five minutes in the bedroom," he said. "We both need it and no one will ever know."

"Athos," warned Porthos, but the kiss that followed was full of dirty intent. "Five minutes," he agreed, allowing himself to be led back down the deserted corridor to their room.

As soon as the door slammed shut they were all over each other. Barged backwards onto the bed by a very needy man, Porthos groaned with utter pleasure as Athos stroked him to full erection and then knelt between his spread legs, taking him into his mouth.

When the electric lights flared into life, Porthos wasn't certain what was going on, but looking in the direction of the doorway he saw Rochefort's supercilious face leering at them. Pushing Athos off him, he tucked his cock back into his trousers, trying to make himself decent in case a miracle happened and this could be explained away as young men's horseplay.

"So, the rumours that have been circulating the district are true, Lafère," Rochefort sneered. "I always wondered why you seemed so disinterested when I took Miss de Breuil from you. Perhaps the whispers back then were also true concerning that unnatural interest you had in your own brother." 

Emitting a roar of animal rage, Athos went to attack Rochefort for a second time that night, but Treville was there to intercept and restrained the man, trapping both arms behind his back. "Stop this now," he snapped.

Rochefort grew evermore delighted with himself. "It might not be a surprise for us old acquaintances to have proof of your sodomite tendencies, but I never expected you to lower your standards so much by sleeping with a negro."

By now, Athos was incoherent, snarling with fury, and Porthos was desperate to comfort him, but Treville warned him away with a fierce look. "Back off," he hissed. "Not the time. It won't help the situation one bit."

Porthos felt sick. Shamefaced, he looked at the ring of faces surrounding him: Treville, Rochefort, the drunken man from earlier, who he now knew must have been sent to spy on them. He could hear Aramis' voice from outside the door, keeping inquisitive bystanders at bay, but he feared it was too late. Unless Rochefort could be persuaded into letting this remain a piece of scandalous local gossip then all would be lost. If only he and Athos had moved somewhere remote, far away from prying eyes. If only they had been more sensible. He looked to Treville for reassurance, but the older man's expression was one of grave concern as his arm rested across Athos' shoulders.

"Raleigh, call the police," said Rochefort. "I want them here immediately."

"There's no need for this, Lord Rochefort," said Treville. "The matter is private and does not concern you."

Rochefort snorted. "Not only have I suffered a physical assault at the hands of Lafère, but I now find out he's a deviant. I _will_ make sure he pays for his crimes."

"If you leave Porthos out of it," said Athos in a low voice, "I'll not dispute any charges you bring against me."

"No bloody way," yelled Porthos. "Not happening."

"Your lover seems most unhappy at the idea." Amused by the situation, Rochefort pushed his face up close to Athos. "Why should I not give him what he wants?"

"Because I’m asking you as a gentleman," said Athos, his voice clear and calm, unhindered by nerves.

"Then, as a gentleman, I accept your terms," said Rochefort. "Raleigh, call the police." He clamped a bony hand down onto Athos' shoulder. "Lafère, you will accompany me to your study. We'll await the arrival of the constable there."

"Athos," pleaded Porthos. "Don't do this."

Athos turned to look at him, full of that determined spirit that Porthos loved so much. "It's better this way," he said. "Don't do anything impetuous. After all, this is my fault."

"At least allow him a moment to change into something more suitable," said Treville, practical to the core.

"I can be charitable," agreed Rochefort. "I'll wait for you in the corridor, Lafère. No trying to knot bedsheets together and escape through the window."

As Rochefort was leaving, Aramis pushed past into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and there was a deepening silence as Athos changed out of his evening suit and put on more casual attire. 

Porthos passed him a heavier weight sweater than the one he had initially chosen. "It may be cold," he said uncertainly, not at all sure of what Athos was facing.

Athos accepted the jumper from him with a nod of thanks, and once he was fully dressed he took a deep breath. "I apologise for my behaviour, gentlemen. I was irresponsible."

"You were indeed," said Treville, including Porthos in his glare. "You both were. The question is what are we going to do about it?"

"Call my lawyer," said Athos, scribbling down the details onto a scrap of paper and handing it to Treville. "Explain the situation."

"I won't have you taking this all on yourself," said Porthos, gripping Athos by the upper arms. "It's my doing as much as yours."

"Though my fault entirely for encouraging you to bed tonight," replied Athos. "Do you honestly think it would make me happier if you were also in a prison cell awaiting trial?"

Porthos shook his head and pulled Athos into a bearhug. "But it would make me feel an awful lot better if I could share the burden."

"You won't be sharing it, Porthos, you'll be adding to it," murmured Athos. "Stay safe and strong for me."

"I'll make sure he's fine, my brother," Aramis said to Athos. "And in the meantime we'll do everything we can to get you out of this predicament. I assume you'll be offered bail."

Athos shook his head. "I doubt it very much indeed. They generally like to make an example of us queers," he said, his lips curving into a wry smile. "Times are changing, but I'm afraid things haven't moved on quickly enough to help me out of this mess."

"Hurry up, Lafère," shouted Rochefort from the other side of the door. "The constable has arrived from the village. Making him wait will not improve his mood."

"Stay here," insisted Athos as Porthos went to go with him. "It could make things worse than they already are if the police decide to interview you. You'll only get on the defensive and start shouting."

Porthos slumped, utterly defeated. It was true; he would, without doubt, lose his temper if anyone dared speak badly of Athos.

"He's right" said Treville, patting Porthos on the back. "Don't worry. I'll make sure he's treated fairly. Best you can do is keep your head down and your chin up, lad."

The hardest thing in Porthos' life--worse than his horrific injuries, worse even than suffering the hell of the trenches--was to watch Athos walk away from him, knowing that he may be gone from him for months, if not years.

With only Aramis left in the room, he sank onto the bed, his head in his hands, and cried, great wracking sobs that split him in two. Everything had been so perfect, too perfect perhaps, allowing them to believe that what they were doing was not wrong. That they were not the indecent specimens the world thought them to be.

He heard the door open, but didn't care enough to look up and see who it was.

"Porthos, I'm so sorry," said Anne. "I shouldn’t have thrown this damn party. If I'd known Rochefort would turn up-"

"You could never have guessed it would end like this," interrupted Aramis gently.

"And it was our fault not yours." Porthos scrubbed at his face, ashamed of being seen in such a weakened state. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid," he berated himself and then he looked up at the others. "What's the worst that can happen to him?"

"I don't know." Aramis wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "Treville's talking to the police and then he's going to telephone Athos' lawyer. After that we may know a little more."

"I'm going to tell everyone to clear off," said Anne. "They'll have an idea of what's happened. I doubt we can stop the fire now, but I can't stand seeing them involved in our private business."

"Agreed," said Aramis.

"Give me half an hour," Anne said, leaning over to kiss Porthos on the forehead. "I'll have kicked everyone out by then and we can sit down and discuss this over a large whisky."

Never more thankful for finally having a family to call his own, Porthos teared up again and hung his head, trying to imagine how Athos would be feeling at this minute. Terrified beyond belief, he suspected, although he'd never show it. "I can't even see him," he said. "He needs me more than ever and I can't be there."

"Most of all he needs you _not_ to be there," said Aramis pragmatically. "We must concentrate on finding a way to get him off these charges."

"I know," said Porthos, so broken now he was barely able to form words.

"Remember, Athos asked you to be strong for him," said Aramis. 

"I know that too," growled Porthos. "But just because he wanted it, doesn't make it any easier to do."

Aramis slung his arm around Porthos' shoulders and squeezed hard. "I'll help Anne chuck everyone out and be back for you in two shakes," he promised.

Porthos nodded and watched his friends leave the room, closing the door carefully behind them. Left alone, he replayed the events of the evening over and over again, trying desperately to alter the outcome. If only he'd resisted Athos' advances then they could be safely tucked up in bed together right now. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"The coast is clear," said Aramis, poking his head around the door a while later. It could have been five minutes or five hours for all Porthos knew. After changing into a more comfortable set of clothes he followed Aramis down the stairs, bracing himself before entering the lounge.

Fully expecting to walk into a lions’ den of accusing faces, he was relieved to find that his friends were concerned rather than judgemental. Lemay immediately got up to greet him, handing him a large and much needed drink.

"This is a ridiculous state of affairs," said the young doctor. "After living through the horrors of war, you'd think society would have moved on from this kind of nonsense."

Constance tugged at his hand and encouraged him to sit. "Not helping," she murmured.

Porthos, however, found himself disagreeing with her words. Such vehement support from a man he didn't even know that well gave him some hope that there could be a more positive outcome to this than he'd been expecting.

When Treville entered the lounge, everyone stared expectantly at him, waiting for news.

"Rochefort has insisted Athos be taken straight up to London to be arraigned," he said with a sigh. "There was nothing I could do. The man may be short but he wields a lot of influence."

"He does indeed," said Anne. "He's a vile creature and yet my husband thinks the world of him. Many others do also."

"What did the lawyer recommend?" asked Porthos.

If it were possible, Treville looked even less comfortable. "Let's just say I don't hold out much hope in him being our saviour. I suspect we'll need to find someone who's more sympathetic to Athos' plight." He sat down heavily in one of the armchairs and accepted a whisky from Aramis. "Without access to Athos' accounts, it will be difficult."

"Money isn't an issue," said Anne.

"But if Louis is a friend of Rochefort, then will he not object to his money being spent in this way?" asked Aramis.

Anne shrugged. "I have my own funds," she said and then she looked thoughtful. "I also have family who may be inclined to help in other ways."

"What has Athos actually been charged with?" asked Porthos.

"Engaging in an act of gross sexual indecency with an unnamed man," said Treville. "There's a slim chance he may get off with a fine, but a prison sentence is far more likely seeing as Lord Rochefort is out to blacken his character as much as possible."

Porthos didn't give a damn about that part. He'd lived with blackening all his life and it wasn't the end of the world. He just needed Athos back. "Is there any chance he might be home soon?" he asked hopefully.

Treville shook his head. "He's to be held in police custody before arraignment and then, if Rochefort has his way, he’ll be imprisoned until the trial, which I warn you, may take months. If Athos pleads guilty then the sentencing will be quicker and the judge may look more favourably on him, but the outcome, I imagine, will inevitably be a jail term." He looked at Anne. "Our best hope seems to lie with your family member."

"I'll contact Francis first thing tomorrow," she promised.

"Other than that, I suggest we go through old newspapers to search out other similar cases," said Aramis. "We may find a friendly barrister that way."

"In the meantime, I think we should go to bed," said Treville. "Nothing more can be achieved tonight." He turned his attention to Anne and Aramis. "I strongly advise that you two be doubly careful from now on. One scandal is quite enough to be dealing with at present."

If Porthos hadn't been feeling so low he would have burst out laughing at the matching expressions of guilt on their faces: naughty children who'd been caught misbehaving. Instead, he said his goodnights and sloped off upstairs to wallow alone in his misery. He was in good health, almost at a hundred percent fitness now. Well enough soon to learn to ride and tackle the workload of his new job. Plenty well enough to take on the role of that ruggedly physical lover he'd longed to be for months. The world was a cruel place.

Without Athos beside him, their bed now became a desolate wasteland. Sleep eluded him, his mind far too restless to allow him to settle. When he did finally doze off, it was only to awake soon after, plagued by nightmares: cruel images of Athos, huddled and miserable in a freezing cold prison cell. Giving up on the idea of rest, he turned on the bedside light and picked up that tatty, leather bound copy of the Wind in the Willows, thumbing through to his favourite chapter all about life on the open road.

Reading a page or two miraculously relaxed him enough to drop off and he woke, later than expected, to a continuous shuffle of movement on the landing as people lined up to use the bathroom. When all was clear he had a strip wash and shave, neatening his beard with the razor in case they had any important meetings today with lawyers. He couldn't lighten the colour of his skin, but the very least he could do was ensure that he looked as smart as possible in order to help Athos’ case.

Breakfast was a sombre affair. In recent times, it had become a rowdy start to the day as they gathered in the kitchen to fuel up, Constance telling Athos off for having his feet on the table and Porthos teasing Aramis about his inability to cook toast. Today they sat in silence, all of them lost to their thoughts as they prepared for the battle ahead.

The morning proved to a write off. Anne's cousin Francis rather caustically refused to become involved in something so distasteful and Treville and Aramis were having little luck in finding an alternative lawyer. Meanwhile, Constance, François and Porthos poured over the details of the Labouchere amendment, under which Athos would be charged, a copy of which Treville had procured from Athos' former solicitor, Mr Simmons.

Porthos grimaced and stretched disconsolately. He was an old hand at reading by now, but this was just gobbledygook. "I don't understand any of this legal jargon," he complained.

François pointed out a section. "Before this amendment, the law was only able to prosecute those caught in the act of buggery which is still technically a capital offence. This entitles the crown to raise a case on gross sexual indecency with an intent to commit sodomy."

Porthos sighed. "Rochefort and his friend saw exactly what Athos and I were doing in bed so there isn't a hope in hell we can prove otherwise."

"Not unless you begin to think laterally," came a voice from the doorway.

Porthos wheeled around to see who was intruding on such a private discussion. The woman in question was dressed impeccably, challenging society's rules by wearing a pair of immaculately cut trousers and matching jacket. She looked stern but undeniably feminine.

"Miss de Breuil," gasped Anne, as startled as if she'd seen a ghost. "How can you be here? The papers reported that you'd died in a hunting accident years ago."

The woman perched casually on the arm of a chair, eyeing Porthos up and down with a look of amused intrigue on her face. It was more than a little disconcerting.

"I hope you don't mind that I let myself in,” she said, strategically avoiding Anne’s question. “But I did practically used to live here. Rumours have been flying all the way up to London and I had to see if they were true."

It was then that Porthos remembered the name. This was Athos' former fiancée. The one who'd left him for Rochefort. What the hell was she doing waltzing in like this? Had she come here to gloat at their misfortune?

"Anne de Breuil is history," continued the woman, placing a cigarette in a holder and accepting a light from Aramis. "I'm now known as Milady de Winter: a good name, don’t you think?" Leaning over to the sideboard, she poured herself a drink. "Rochefort preferred to tell everyone that I was dead rather than admit to the embarrassing truth that I'd had enough of his perverted ways in the bedroom and had abandoned the little weasel for pastures new."

"Madam," said Treville, approaching her with his arms folded. "I have no idea why you're here, but I'd be grateful if you'd leave now."

"Fine," she said, putting down her whisky. "If you want Athos to end up rotting in a jail cell then I'll go."

"Tell us what you can do about it," growled Porthos intervening between the two of them. He’d deal with Devil, if he had to, in order to get Athos off this charge.

"Well," said Milady, smiling up at him. "As I said to begin with, it's a case of lateral thinking. I assume Rochefort actually witnessed you two in action?"

"He did," said Porthos, feeling the heat of a blush. "Him and his mate Raleigh barged in on us in the bedroom."

"Well then, you need to work on _them_ rather than on Athos, seeing as his part in this is cut and dried," she said.

Treville and Porthos exchanged a look. There was no denying that she was right, but the implication of it was morally questionable to say the least.

"What precisely do you mean?" asked Treville, never one to shy away from the point.

Milady shrugged. "I'm not qualified to answer that, but if you do decide you want some help with the matter then I know just the man. Though I warn you now, he'll charge an extortionate amount of money." Her gap toothed smile was handsome but predatory. "His name is Armand Richelieu. You may have heard of him."

"That perjuring piece of scum," seethed Treville. "He's the most disreputable lawyer in London."

“But he is effective,” said Milady. “I’m employed by him. I like to think of myself as his fixer.”

“Why would you want to help Athos?” asked Anne.

"Financial gain, of course," said Milady with another dismissive shrug. She tapped her cigarette into an onyx ashtray. “I’m also grateful that he never made waves when I left him,” she conceded and then she smirked at Porthos. “Although I'm now beginning to understand why. Even so, he could have made my life extremely difficult. Rochefort, in comparison, is a revolting specimen and deserves to be in prison. He’ll kill someone the way he carries on. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t done so already. His tastes are brutal and unorthodox.”

Porthos wasn’t sure whether this statement was for shock value, or being used as a tool to incur sympathy. Perhaps it was simply the truth.

“Ultimately, I discovered that I didn’t need a husband to get on in life,” said Milady. “The post war world is a very different place and I’m perfectly capable of making my own way in it without relying on handouts from a man.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” said Treville, not won over precisely, but certainly more amenable towards the woman.

“How much will it cost to hire Mr Richelieu as Athos’ lawyer?” asked Anne.

“Armand will discuss that when you meet with him.“ Milady smiled. “My own fees can be negotiated separately, depending on what action needs to be taken.”

“And what services do you perform in order to _fix_ things?” asked Anne.

An icy undercurrent linked the two women and it was increasingly apparent that there was a lot of bad blood between them. Porthos was relieved that Anne was willing to let go of the past and deal with the acerbic and frankly rather frightening Milady de Winter. 

"That depends entirely on what's necessary to achieve the desired result," said Milady coolly. "I have no self imposed limits."

Her words were chilling, compelling evidence in backing up Porthos' opinion of her, but he didn't give a damn. Athos' freedom was all that mattered.


	25. Chapter 25

Athos refused to hang his head because he was not ashamed in the slightest of being discovered with Porthos. His feelings were neither introspective nor regretful. He was simply disgusted that Rochefort had deliberately intruded into their bedroom in order to catch them having sex. It didn't surprise him, however. As a boy, Rochefort had gained a reputation for having some very suspicious practices. No animal was safe around him, so the stories went.

"I should have waited a few minutes longer then I'd be able to watch you hang for your depravity," hissed Rochefort as he and Raleigh frogmarched Athos down the stairs.

"Unlikely," drawled Athos. "I've heard the judiciary are all at it nowadays and often show leniency in such cases."

"Quiet," ordered Treville, a step behind the three men. "Let's get this over with as quickly and as calmly as possible. Hopefully, a chat with the police will bring you to your senses and change your mind about pressing charges, your Lordship. Athos is well liked around here."

"Amongst peasants, negroes and other sodomites perhaps," said Rochefort, "but I think you'll find that the Lafères have never been respected by their peers."

Treville took in a deep sustaining breath, his hatred for the man growing by the second. "Perhaps not, sir, but the people who live here rate him highly as their landlord and friend."

The last thing Athos wanted was for Treville to get drawn into an argument with Rochefort, and so it became his turn to aim a warning glance over his shoulder.

The hallway was massed with curious onlookers, the whispers a constant hiss of background noise, and Athos was relieved to discover that he still felt nothing but pride in being publicly outed. Damn the lot of them. They could hang him, as far as he was concerned. At least he'd die honestly, with the truth on his lips and the knowledge that he had finally loved someone and been loved in return.

"Athos," said Constance, pushing through the crowd. "What can I do?"

"Look after Porthos for me," he said with a weary smile.

"I will," said Constance. "I promise."

"I know you will." Athos nodded at her as he was pushed unceremoniously into the study by the apelike Raleigh.

The constable was waiting for them, but to Athos' immense disappointment it wasn't the policeman who'd been stationed in the village throughout most of his life: the old bobby who'd helped him out of scrapes and brought him home as a youngster when he'd been caught drinking. This was a new man, one with an eye on promotion by the look of him, and for the first time that evening Athos sank into a pit of despair. He could hold his head high as far as his relationship with Porthos was concerned, but how would he cope with incarceration?

"I discovered Lafère performing an indecent act on another man and I want him prosecuted for it," said Rochefort, before the door was even shut.

Treville slammed it full force and Athos supposed that his friend was angry at Rochefort for deliberately adding fuel to the fire. He himself couldn't care less what people thought of him. Let them know. Let them gossip. As long as they left Porthos alone he didn't give a damn about the rest.

"I'll need you to describe this act for me, Lord Rochefort," said the young policeman, blushing at the awkward topic of conversation.

With gusto and obvious enjoyment, Rochefort explained at length the events that had led to him discovering the two men in bed. Raleigh took over at times, revealing how he had seen them emerging from the bathroom together and overheard the conversation that followed on from it. He described them kissing then holding hands on their way to the bedroom and told of how he immediately fetched Lord Rochefort.

The one honourable thing they did was to keep Porthos' name out of the police report, although Athos had a strong suspicion it was because neither of them had been bothered to take note of it.

"To witness Lafère with his mouth around another man's cock, a negro at that, was horrifying," said Rochefort, emphasizing the crucial word of the sentence with relish. "Such perversions cannot be allowed to go unpunished. That they had the gall to be performing lewd acts on each other whilst surrounded by so many people is utterly revolting. I near enough vomited at the sight."

"We were in our-" Athos corrected himself quickly. "We were in my bedroom. I didn't expect what we were doing to become a spectator sport."

The policeman didn't smile, nor did he look up from his notebook. "Do you refute this, Lord Lafère?" was all he said.

"No," said Athos calmly. "Every word they say is true."

"Then, I arrest you on a charge of committing an act of gross sexual indecency on another man. You have the right to remain silent and anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."

The truth hit hard and, close to fainting, Athos stumbled. It was only the indefatigable support of Treville that kept him upright.

"You told Porthos to be strong and now you must do the same," the older man said in an undertone. "Stay calm and we'll do our best to get you out of this."

"I don't hold out much hope," murmured Athos in reply.

"Take him to London for arraignment," said Rochefort imperiously. "I don't want him breathing the same air as me."

"You can't do that," said Treville in objection. "How will he be able to see his solicitor? Ipswich magistrates court would be far more suitable."

"A lawyer worth his salt will come to Bow Street," said the constable. "But it's probably not worth the visit. After arraignment, he'll go to Pentonville to await trial or sentencing. His solicitor may see him there."

"This is not the end," said Treville as Athos was handcuffed and bundled into the back of the police car. 

Athos nodded at him through the glass and then looked upwards to the bedroom window, grateful that his prayers had been answered and that Porthos was safe.

It was the early hours of the morning by the time they arrived in London. Used to the hubbub of city life, Athos looked around him in disbelief to see the streets devoid of people. It added to the surrealism of the night and as he was led into the police station, he felt numb, entirely disconnected.

"What are you doing up from the provinces at this hour?" asked the desk sergeant, looking the new arrivals up and down.

Athos half listened as the events of the evening were reported once again. He felt queasy at the pejorative terms used to describe him, but his biggest worry came when he noticed the way the sergeant's back straightened and his ears pricked up at the mention of Rochefort's name. The man's tentacles of influence spread wider than Athos had imagined.

The cells were cold and damp, the brick walls wet to the touch. Athos laid on the thin mattress, pulling the grey wool blanket around him and wishing he knew more about the law. He took heart in the fact that his solicitor, Simmons, was a good man and would hopefully ensure the best possible outcome from this. He would plead guilty, get off with a fine and soon be back home. They could cope with the malicious gossip that would inevitably result from this. It wouldn't last forever.

As morning broke, a tray was pushed in through the door, on it a cup of water and a bowl of gruel. He ate the thin porridge, not knowing when his next meal was likely to be and found it was far more appetising than the dreadful food at the front. 

With just a slop bucket to piss in and no water for washing, Athos tidied himself up as best he could, thankful that Porthos had thought to provide him with a warmer sweater. With that and his tweed jacket he was far from freezing, although the damp was already making his chest tighten, the cough becoming more regular than it had been for months.

"Where now?" he asked when the cell door opened.

"Magistrates court," snapped a constable who turned out to be a brute of a man, taking great pleasure in slamming Athos up against the cell wall, twisting his arms behind his back and cuffing him with a pair of heavy manacles.

"Is this really necessary?" asked Athos. "I'm hardly Jack the Ripper." He regretted his words immediately when he saw a sneer emerge on the policeman's face.

"Don't want your filthy hands touching any of us normal blokes." He spat the words out with venomous pleasure and, in this most vulnerable of positions, Athos felt the urge to cower from him. He'd heard stories of how homosexuals were treated in custody, by police, guards and prisoners alike. It was why he was so determined that Porthos would never end up here.

Frightened to death, he was led outside and pushed into back of a horse drawn Black Maria along with a group of other criminals, a motley bunch of men and women who were dirty and ragged, lacking the comfort of a wool suit and argyle sweater. In the usual case of inverted snobbery, they looked down on him, and would no doubt do so even more once they discovered the reason for his imprisonment.

"My lawyer, Mr Simmons, should be here soon," he said as he was placed inside one of the tiny holding cells that lined the basement walls of Bow Street magistrates court. "Can my case be postponed until I've spoken to him?"

"You have a few hours yet," said the one policeman who showed a little compassion to his charges. "But you must be arraigned today."

His watch having been taken off him, Athos paced the cell and counted the seconds, trying to keep some track of time, but without anything to use as a marker it proved impossible. Sitting on the worn wooden planks that made do as a bed, he contemplated what to do. Pleading guilty of all charges seemed the obvious thing, but he'd have liked to receive some counsel first. He may have been a practicing homosexual, but he was ignorant of the ramifications. 

Hours passed by with no sign of Simmons and Athos was eventually brought through to the courtroom, more vulnerable than he had ever been in the trenches when he was under constant siege from a barrage of shells. The chamber was enormous. There were faces everywhere, beady eyes staring accusingly down at him from the balconies, and as the clerk of the court read out his name and the charges brought against him in a high pitched, unnaturally shrill voice, Athos quailed. It was true; he had been performing a sex act on another man and there was an intent to commit buggery, but it was not grossly indecent, or perverted, or sinful in the eyes of God. It was none of anyone's bloody business. Bilious with anger, he glared balefully at the chairman of the magistrates.

"How do you plead, Lord Lafère?" said the man, peering at him myopically, despite the pair of spectacles that were perched on the end of his nose.

Guilty, thought Athos. Guilty of taking every inch of Porthos' beautiful cock inside him. Of riding him until he was flooded with heat. Of sucking him off until his mouth filled with come. Of kissing him for hours on end until their lips were roughened and sore from stubble burn. He was entirely guilty of loving Porthos. 

"Not guilty," he heard himself say, certain that he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life and possibly Porthos' too. The words that followed washed over him, case numbers, bills of indictment, none of it meaning a thing.

"The matter will proceed to the criminal court," said the magistrate finally. "You will be taken to Pentonville prison to await trial. If you do not have a lawyer you will be appointed one by the courts."

Athos stared at the tiled floor as he was taken from the room then manhandled through the heavy double doors and down a flight of narrow stone steps to the basement where he was returned to the holding cell. 

“I have a lawyer,” he said when asked, although he was baffled as to why Simmons was not here when he was most needed. “May I make a telephone call?”

“Lord Mucky Muck wants to use the telephone,” sneered one of the guards to his mate at the desk. “Shall we let him, Hobbs?”

“Have him put his filthy hands all over it?” said the other, playing along. “I don’t think so.” He got up from his seat and walked over to Athos’ cell. “I've got an instrument here you’d love to get your hands on by all accounts, darling.” He thrust his crotch suggestively against the bars. “Go on, have a little suck. It says on the charge sheet that you like nothing better than getting down on your knees for the fellers.”

“Bet you he’s a regular at them special clubs up West.”

"I bet you're right, Grainger. He'd be pretty as a picture all done up like a molly."

Sitting dejectedly on the bench seat, Athos closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. More naïve than most men his age, he didn’t have a clue what sort of clubs they were even on about. He wondered dispassionately when the case against him would make the gossip rags and how many lies the journalists would tell in order to twist a simple love affair into something sordid.

Gaining no reaction whatsoever from their victim, the guards soon grew bored of taunting Athos, the only downside of this being that once they’d left him alone there was nothing to do but sit and think. Eventually, he was handcuffed and loaded into the back of a motorised Black Maria then driven through the busy streets to Pentonville jail.

The true horror of the situation was made clear to him when the handcuffs were removed and he and the others were herded into a vast, tiled washroom. The warmth of his clothes became an irrelevance as he was forced to strip and was then subject to an intimate physical examination by one of the army of prison doctors. His hair was roughly shorn away and, after bathing and a delousing treatment, he was handed a pile of alternative clothing and thrown naked into a pen that contained at least a dozen other men in various states of undress.

It was a humiliating experience from start to finish. Some of those who'd arrived in the same vehicle knew of the charges that had been brought against him and the catcalls and profanities were disgusting, even to a battle weary ex-soldier like him. Remaining silent, he dried himself hurriedly with the scrap of towelling provided and then, shivering in the freezing conditions, he put on underpants, vest and the rough cotton uniform. No footwear was provided.

When the pen doors opened, the new inmates were marched along a passageway and then up a flight of steps, surrounded on all sides by guards carrying heavy truncheons. Pulled from the procession, before the line had passed through a set of barred gates, Athos wondered what was in store for him now, images of rape and sexual assault the first things that came to mind.

"Your brief has arrived," said one of the guards in a surly voice, cuffing him once again and leading him through to a more pleasant area of the jail. "In here."

It was yet another miniscule cell, but this one was divided by a half brick wall topped by a framework of narrow bars. Beyond the iron grid was a familiar face, but not the one Athos had been expecting.

"John," he said, sinking down onto the wooden chair. "What are you doing here? Where's Simmons?"

Treville shook his head. "I’m sorry, Athos. He wouldn't take the case. The nature of it distressed him too much, he informed me." The man was clearly furious. "I came here to explain the situation at our end and find out what's been happening to you."

Shocked to hear of his solicitor's bigoted reaction to the news, Athos found himself in an unusual state of nerves. He'd been relying on Simmons to act on his behalf and employ a decent barrister for the trial. "I pleaded not guilty," he said in a low voice. "Now what am I to do?"

Treville was obviously taken aback by the news. "I'm not certain," he said. "Can you change your decision?"

"Possibly," said Athos, but despite the fear he was in a stubborn mood. "Though I have no intention of doing so." He stared at Treville. "They won't arrest Porthos, will they?"

"I doubt it," said Treville, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Though they may well call him as a witness."

"But Rochefort promised to keep him out of it," said Athos. His greatest fear had been that they would charge Porthos, but he'd never considered that they would make him testify.

"And you promised to plead guilty to all charges," said Treville, frustrated by the turn of events. "You've played right into Rochefort's hands, Athos. There's nothing he's going to enjoy more than being able to humiliate you in the dock. Change your plea."

"No," said Athos. He may be guilty of this in the eyes of the law, but it had become a matter of principle to him.

Treville sighed. "Then I have a solution," he said. "It may come as a shock to you though so prepare yourself."

"Spit it out, man," snapped Athos, frustrated and bad tempered with it. He knew, however, that Treville was going out of the way to help and was instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry."

Treville knew his moody ways well enough by now and brushed it aside. "We had a visitor at the Manor early this afternoon. A woman who now goes by the name of Milady de Winter. You once knew her as Anne de Breuil."

Athos stared at him. "Impossible," he said. "She's dead."

"Anne recognised her instantly," said Treville. "So there’s no doubting the matter. Apparently she left Rochefort and he lied about the hunting accident to cover up his embarrassment."

"That I can believe," said Athos. "How is she?"

"Unusual," said Treville. "Quite the most sarcastic, blunt and predatory woman I've ever met, though charming with it."

Athos let out a huff of laughter. "That sounds like her." Anne had once been his world, both of them seeking out danger wherever they could find it, although his had been more of a solitary pursuit. "But what does she have to do with this matter?" he asked.

"She works for a lawyer named Richelieu."

Athos clenched his fists, fighting against the manacles. "No," he said. "Don't even think it. That man is the lowest of the low." His reputation for dirty dealings and underhand ways was legendary.

"Exactly what I said when I assumed you were going to plead guilty, but now I fear that we're left with no choice." Treville paced his side of the room, hands tucked neatly behind his back. "We should at least meet with Richelieu to discuss your case."

"No," said Athos, getting up from his seat and walking to the door. "I refuse point blank to employ that man. I'll defend myself if I must. There's no chance I'll be found anything but guilty by a jury so it makes no difference who acts on my behalf."

"But what if Richelieu _can_ make a difference?" said Treville quietly. "At least let me speak to him."

Athos had been about to call for the guard, but he waited a moment, mulling things over. Rochefort had so many skeletons in the closet it wouldn't be hard to discredit the man, but dealing with Richelieu would undermine all of Athos' hard fought principles and make a mockery of his stance. 

"No, Treville," he said firmly. "I won't have that poisonous piece of shit representing me in court. I'd rather stand up for myself."


	26. Chapter 26

Having been ordered to be sensible, Aramis and Anne were precisely the opposite, sleeping together for the first time in Aramis' bed, safe in the knowledge that Treville was away in London. It was a worn out and old married couple who slid under the covers that night, needing nothing else but the simple comfort of each other. Their fuck was quick and unspectacular, but entirely necessary to keep them going, the cuddling and quiet talk afterwards every bit as vital as the sex.

"What can we do?" said Anne, her head resting Aramis’ chest. "I'm terrified for him."

Aramis remained silent for a while, concerned for his friend in so many ways. No one was lenient to the upper classes in jail and they were anything but kind to homosexuals. 

"We’ll do whatever is necessary to bring him home," he said. "By fair means or foul. I don’t care."

Sleep didn't come easy to either of them and, after hours of tossing and turning, Aramis was rather beginning to wish that they'd stayed in the cottage instead of risking it all for a cosy bed. It may have been practically derelict in the gamekeeper's lodge, but it was their own private place and had an otherworldly feel to it that allowed him to step away from life for a few short hours. Lying here, he couldn't stop thinking about Athos locked in a prison cell and Porthos curled miserable, alone in their bed.

It was a relief when morning arrived and he could get up and do something useful instead of worrying himself sick. 

The house was already coming to life, the kitchen a subdued meeting place, and Treville was a sorry sight to behold over the breakfast table. Having had no sleep at all, the whole night spent travelling between London and Ipswich with just a brief stopover at Pentonville, the man was unkempt and greyish in pallor.

"Go to bed," insisted Aramis. “You’re done in.”

"Not until he's told us about Athos," growled Porthos who, this morning, had adopted the demeanour of a wounded bear. "How is he?"

"Bearing up remarkably well," said Treville with a wan smile. "As bad tempered and stubborn as always."

Porthos managed a grin. "That's my boy."

"You may not say that when I tell you the rest," warned Treville, freshening his mug of tea from the pot on the table. "He's taken it upon himself to plead not guilty."

"Only Athos," sighed Aramis, although he wasn't the least bit surprised by the news. "There are two witnesses and still he denies it."

"He’s not denying that he was doing it,” said Porthos. “He’s denying that he's guilty of anything." He smiled though his pain. "We all know he's an idiot." The warmth in his eyes spoke of a different opinion altogether.

"Actually, there are three witnesses rather than two," said Treville looking pointedly at Porthos.

The big man stared back. "Oh no," he said shaking his head. "I won't be testifying against him. That's not going to happen."

"You won't have a choice if Rochefort's lawyer calls you to the stand," said Treville bluntly. "The other problem we're left with is that Athos absolutely refuses to employ Richelieu."

"But, as far as I can see it, that's his only hope," said Aramis, scraping his hair back. "What choice does he have, other than a court appointed lawyer who, if not useless, will, in all probability, be entirely unsympathetic to his case?"

"He's going to bloody represent himself, isn't he?" muttered Porthos.

No one was surprised when Treville nodded.

"Well," said Anne, speaking up for the first time that morning. "I'd better get on and telephone Mr Richelieu to ask him if he’ll meet us here this afternoon to discuss the case."

"Have you not been listening to a word we’ve said?" asked Aramis, frowning at her.

Constance and Anne frowned back at him.

"Of course we have," snapped Constance.

"Athos has refused to engage Richelieu," said Aramis, baffled by matching exasperated expressions on the faces of the girls. 

"But that doesn't prevent me from employing him directly in order to discredit Rochefort," said Anne.

Aramis was floored by the sheer audacity of this. He wasn't sure if it was lateral thinking or simply underhanded, but whatever the case he was glad Anne was on their side.

"Athos'll be fuming mad when he finds out,' said Porthos, but nevertheless he charged across the kitchen to haul Anne into a hug. "Thank God, he's got you fighting his corner," he said, putting Aramis' thoughts into words.

No one was entirely certain what to expect of the infamous Mr Richelieu, and so, as the appointed hour approached, the tension throughout the house became palpable.

"He surely can't be as frightening as his reputation," whispered Aramis to Porthos as they watched the car pull up to the front of the house.

A chauffeur got out and opened the rear doors, offering assistance to Milady who brushed him aside with a disdainful look. The man who accompanied her up to the front porch was rather uninspiring. Thin, greying and haggard was the best way to describe him and Aramis was initially unimpressed.

"He don't look up to much," muttered Porthos.

"Looks can be deceptive," said Treville as he opened the door to greet their notorious visitor.

Now that they were inside, Aramis was able to get a better look at Armand Richelieu and, whist introductions were being made, he gave him a thorough inspection. The man was indeed scrawny, his narrowness emphasised by the slim dark suit he was wearing, but rather than haggard Aramis could now see that he was wiry and thrumming with life, absorbing every detail around him with hawk like observation.

"So," said the lawyer, rubbing his hands together. "Are we going to stand about all day making small talk, or are we going to get on and discuss the salacious details of this case?"

Treville led the way through to the lounge and, tugging at the knees of his suit trousers, Richelieu sat down and crossed his legs, accepting a drink from the ever forward Milady who'd poured a generous slug of whisky into just two of the tumblers on the sideboard.

"Now," said Richelieu, staring at Anne and Constance. "Perhaps you two ladies would care to leave us gentlemen alone to get down to business."

Anne puffed herself up. "Seeing as I’m the one who'll be employing you, I find that rather offensive."

"I apologise, Lady Bourbon" said Richelieu smoothly. "I assumed I was acting for Lord Lafère."

"I would have thought that a good lawyer would know never to assume anything," responded Anne, equally as smoothly.

This comment elicited a tiny smile of approval from Milady.

Richelieu shrugged. "Well then, as long as you won't be offended by any prurient details that emerge, then I have no objection to you staying."

"You won't be needing to know any details about me and Athos and what happened the other night," growled Porthos. "Because, as it happens, none of that is relevant."

"So, _you're_ the chappy who got caught with his pants down," said Richelieu. "Boys will be boys and high jinks always happen at parties, but honestly you should know better than to cavort about so carelessly." He inspected Porthos as if he were an exhibit rather than a client. "I should have thought the colour of your skin would predispose you to act with a little more discretion."

Porthos took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. "I can see now why Athos refused to employ you. I've half a mind to throw you out on your arse right now. He and I weren't cavorting, neither were we having high jinks, or any other insulting thing you might think up to describe us. He and I are in love with each other and we have been for ages, so it's no one's business what we get up to in our own room, certainly not Lord fucking Rochefort." He took another calming breath. "Your job is to investigate the little shit and find out as many _prurient_ and _salacious_ bits of information you can about him in order to convince the bastard to drop this ridiculous case against my Athos."

No one interrupted this diatribe, in fact Aramis had half a mind to offer up a round of applause once it had ended. He also noticed, with interest, that Richelieu's piercing blue eyes had softened considerably.

"I think you've explained yourself very well, dear boy," the lawyer said. "And I'll be happy to take on the case now that I know what is required of me." He smiled at Milady. "I know Madame de Winter will thoroughly enjoy rooting out all the facts, and I'm very persuasive when it comes to encouraging witnesses to speak out." He held out his glass for a refill and Milady obliged. "I always find that money is a wonderful tool to convince people to talk. I take it none of you have any objection to my methods?"

Aramis wasn't at all certain that Anne should be getting involved in this kind of business. To have dealings with such a man could cause her no end of trouble. But what else could be done to help Athos? 

Finally Treville spoke up. "You're talking about bribery," he said accusingly.

Richelieu shook his head. "I'm merely suggesting that a little financial encouragement may be necessary." He paused. "Unless of course it turns out that we need to pay someone to exaggerate extensively on our behalf."

"Dear God, your foul reputation doesn't even come halfway close to the truth," said Treville. "I'm sorry I ever tried to persuade Athos into engaging your services." He rubbed at his temples. "You should leave right now."

"No!" said Aramis, his mind made up. "We need his help, John." Of course he had his reservations, but Athos was his brother in all but name and Porthos would always be his best friend, therefore he and Anne would do everything in their power to help them.

"Believe me, there'll be plenty of evidence against Rochefort," said Milady. "I'm certain that there'll be such a vast amount that neither perjury nor bribery will be necessary." She tapped her fingernails against the crystal glass. "The biggest problem we might encounter is that many of the girls will be too frightened to come forward."

"But the thing is we don't actually need this to go to trial," said Porthos. "You just have to convince the stunted little bastard that you have enough proof against him to do so unless he drops the charges against Athos."

"Which should be a piece of cake," said Milady with a smirk of satisfaction at her employer. The two of them clearly relished their games.

"Are you in approval, Lady Bourbon?" Richelieu asked Anne.

"I am," she said. "Now shall we discuss costs?"

"I never talk of such mundane things, your Ladyship," said Richelieu and walking over to the desk he scribbled a figure onto the back of one of his business cards, preceded by an elaborate pound sign. Blotting it carefully, he handed it to Anne. "My fee," he said. "Non negotiable, of course."

"It's acceptable," said Anne, taking a quick glance at the card. "Provided you get a swift result."

"Oh I shall, my dear," said Richelieu with a smile that transformed his face into something quite handsome. "And I shall thoroughly enjoy doing so."


	27. Chapter 27

On his way to the kitchen, Porthos was surprised to overhear a sharp exchange of words as Treville intercepted Richelieu before the lawyer could join Milady in their motor car. As CO he had always been brusque, but rarely acrimonious.

"You will not use this situation to further your own reputation," insisted Treville. "These boys have suffered enough because of the war and I’ll not have them go through any more just to feather your nest. I insist you do your utmost to ensure that they're kept out of the public eye. If not, you’ll have me to answer to."

Richelieu looked him up and down and then frowned. "You think very little of me."

"I know the kind of tricks you employ and the unpleasant way you have of trampling over everyone in order to get to the pinnacle of your sordid little world."

"Perhaps you believe too much of what you read in the papers," said Richelieu, cocking his head to one side. "I assure you, Treville, I'm not the monster you think I am. Have a little faith. Trust me."

"I'd sooner trust a rattlesnake," said Treville. "At least I can hear it coming before it strikes."

Porthos decided it was time to intervene. The last thing they wanted to do was turn Richelieu against them. "John," he said, limping up to the two men and leaning heavily on his stick. "You don't fancy making me a cuppa, do you? My legs are giving out and I'm dying of thirst."

"Of course," said Treville, hurrying off to the kitchen.

"You're a good liar, Porthos," said Richelieu once they were alone. "You'd make a good lawyer. Sit with me a minute."

The oak settle was uncomfortable but sturdy and was as good a place as any for a chat.

"Don't mind Treville," said Porthos carefully. "His bark is worse than his bite. He was in charge of this place when it was a convalescent home and I think we'll always be his to look after."

"Don't worry," said Richelieu. "I admire a man with a spark about him and there's nothing I enjoy more than a good argument." He stood up to go. "I’ll do my best to help your Lord Lafère. Nothing irks me more than this kind of injustice."

"Thank you," said Porthos, following him to the door. "I'm sorry for shouting earlier."

"No need at all, dear boy," said Richelieu. "As I said before, there's nothing I like more than a bit of spirit. I'll be in touch soon."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Porthos closed the front door and headed to the kitchen, convinced now that Richelieu may be a bizarre creature, but he was being completely on the level with them.

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have lost my temper with him," said Treville who staring into his tea as if it held the answer to life's mysteries. "I just don't trust the man."

"You're overtired," said Porthos as he sat down and poured himself a cup from the pot, adding milk and sugar. "You're seeing the worst in him."

"Probably right," agreed Treville. He looked at Porthos. "You and Athos should have been more careful, you know."

"I am aware." Porthos did his best to raise a smile. "The problem is that when you’re sheltered, the way we have been here, it's easy to forget you're not normal."

"Don't ever say that," said Treville, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Things will get easier, I promise you. I saw a big change happening during my career as an officer. The army is showing a lot more compassion towards homosexuality than was once the case." He sighed. "Though it is still a court martial offence."

"I wouldn't know," said Porthos with a shrug. "I wasn't into blokes before I met Athos, but he's come to mean everything to me. I don't know why. I don't how it happened. It just did." He stirred his tea with endless revolutions of the spoon. "I don't regret it either, not even now. And nor will he."

Treville smiled. "His only concerns are for you."

"How is he really?" asked Porthos.

"Stubborn, just like I said. They may have shaved his head and taken away his belongings, but they haven't broken his spirit."

"Nor will they," said Porthos with determination. Athos was the strongest person he’d ever known.

"At least Pentonville is one of the more modern prisons," yawned Treville. "He'll be relatively comfortable there."

The man was shattered. He’d soon be in need of matchsticks to prop open his eyelids. 

"Go to bed," insisted Porthos. "You done everything you can. I'm grateful and I know Athos is too." He grasped Treville's forearm. "And thank you for not judging us."

"Nothing to judge," said Treville, getting up and patting Porthos' shoulder. "You know, I think I might have that nap. Wake me up in a couple of hours."

"Will do," said Porthos, watching the man go and wishing he could remain under that comforting wing for the rest of his days.


	28. Chapter 28

The bravest thing Athos had ever done in his entire life was to say goodbye to John Treville then leave the relative haven of the visitor's room, without flinching or admitting how frightened he was actually feeling. It was a task that proved nigh on impossible. As he was led along corridors and up flights of iron steps he kept his eyes fixed to the floor, not wanting to know what was in store for him. If it hadn't been for Porthos he would have longed for a simple exit from this world, preferably the military method of a quick court martial and firing squad.

"Home sweet home," said the guard, unlocking a stout metal door. "Until your trial at least."

"Thank you," said Athos automatically as the guard held the door open for him.

The man smiled, amused by his good manners. "Did I heard right that you're planning on representing yourself?"

"I am." Athos looked around at his new place of residence. It was small with just a single barred window high up on the wall, but it was clean and there was a WC and basin. It could have been a lot worse.

"Might I suggest you get your brief to hire a decent barrister," said the guard. "Toffs don't do well at His Majesty's pleasure."

"I'll manage," said Athos, looking at the man properly for the first time. He was craggy featured, with the sallow skin of a heavy drinker and smoker, but his sympathetic nature shone through. "But thank you for your advice, Mr?"

"Wright," said the guard with a rueful smile. "And I don't half get the mickey taken for it." He face grew solemn. "Now listen. You get access to the baths once a week and you're allowed out into the exercise yard once a day for fifteen minutes." He lowered his voice. "Keep your distance from a guard called Labarge. Say as little as you can to him. He don't take kindly to your sort. A lot of them don't, but he's the worst."

With that he left, the heavy door banging shut behind him, and Athos was left on his own for the first time with just a scant amount of light from the electric bulbs in the corridor to help him find his way around the cell. To have any bathroom facilities was more than he could have hoped for. He'd been expecting the abhorrent situation of slopping out every morning, getting covered in other prisoners' waste as one by one the rumours spread and he was outed as being a sissy. At least now he would only have to be wary at exercise times and on bath day.

Stretching out tentatively on the bed, he was relieved to find that the mattress did have a degree of softness to it. It smelt of chemicals, as did the rough blanket--both soused with a delousing treatment, he guessed--but his lot here could have been worse, much worse. If Treville visited him again he'd ask the man to pass on a message to Porthos and reassure him that everything was fine. Better than expected. 

Curling up on his side, he dragged the blanket over him and thought of nothing but Porthos: of lying in their bed and eating a lazy breakfast together, of the way they would sing tunelessly in the kitchen as they prepared the meals. Of the way Porthos made him feel safe and loved, and had done so since the day they'd met.

"I will get through this," he whispered. "I will come home to you." It was his only prayer and would remain so until the day he returned to the Manor.

Sleep was fitful, but it did happen and when the siren sounded out a reveille of sorts Athos jerked awake, disorientated and wondering for a moment where he was. After a quick wash he paced the cell, needing to stretch his legs after sleeping in that damp bed all night. His chest felt tight and he longed for the fresh air of Suffolk. 

He listened for a while to the rhythmic banging of doors and stomping of feet, wondering what was going on, but then his own cell opened and a tray was shoved inside. On it was a bowl of porridge and a tin mug of tea.

"Thank you," said Athos and in the naïve hope that it was someone friendly delivering the meal, he asked: "Would it be possible to have a book to read?” 

A stranger looked in, brutish with cold shark's eyes and Athos knew then that he’d made a substantial error of judgement. 

"If I had my way all you'd be getting would be my stick up your arse." He spat at Athos and a globule of saliva landed on his cheek then slid downwards, dropping to the floor to form a patch of white froth.

Athos chilled to the bone, knowing then that this must be the man Wright had warned him about yesterday. He'd forgotten. He must learn to be more careful.

"The goody two shoes will be around later," said Labarge. "They'll bring you Jesus and as many flowery fucking books as you want. They'll probably try and turn you back to the ways of God. Make you swear off buggery for life." Labarge entered the cell fully and stared Athos down from his superior height. "You'll never do that though, will you, Nancy? Your arse was born to take a pounding." He jammed his truncheon between Athos' buttocks and rammed hard.

"Labarge!" yelled a voice from outside. "Get a bleeding move on. I ain't doing the whole row by myself."

"I'll see you later, your _Lordship_ ," sneered Labarge, and the whack around the ribs was a clear indication of what lay ahead.

The goody two shoes, as Labarge had called them, turned out to be a group of visitors from a moral reform society who were determined that rehabilitation of prisoners was the way forward. The deputation consisted of three elderly gentleman from the middle classes who read appropriate passages to Athos from the bible and skirted, rather awkwardly, around the reason for his incarceration.

"I'm on remand," Athos pointed out when they spoke endlessly about the error of his ways without actually mentioning what they were. "Innocent until proven guilty and all that."

"Then I shall leave the bible for you to read at your leisure," said their pinched looking spokesman, adjusting his wonky spectacles for what must have been the tenth time in an hour. "Is there anything else that will make your stay here easier?"

"Books," said Athos. "Plus a notepad and pen would be useful. I need to start preparing my case for trial."

"Indeed, your Lordship," said the leader, his expression an odd blend of obsequiousness and revulsion. "We'll deliver them on our next visit."

Relieved to be left alone, Athos tried to be thankful for small mercies. The reformers might have been the most dull and sanctimonious of all people, but at least they had the power to ease his boredom.

Time passed so terribly slowly in here. He began to count things incessantly: the number of bricks in each wall, the amount of times the guards passed by and peered into his cell to make sure he was not misbehaving. Meals became an oasis, even the daily diet of grey stew and boiled vegetables something to look forward to. In contrast to this, exercise time in the yard was fifteen very long minutes that he’d begun to dread. He kept himself to himself and walked the courtyard, never staying still for a second, but if Labarge was present, he could feel those beady eyes watching him at all times. The big man loved to 'accidentally' knock him to the ground or shove a vicious elbow into his side and if ever they were alone together, his threats grew far more sexualised in nature.

With exercise time this much of a concern, Athos began to dread his forthcoming trip to the bath house. By the time the appointed day arrived, that niggle of fear had built up to something terrifying in his mind, yet surprisingly it turned out to be more of an eye opener than an ordeal.

"Hello, chicken," said a scrawny, middle aged man as Athos joined the queue for a wash. "You got caught with a dilly boy so I hear. There's blues a plenty in here if you know where to look and the khazi's the place if you're after some home comforts."

Athos clutched at his towel and meagre bar of soap, staring in confusion at the other prisoner. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't understand."

"Are you omi palone?" said the man, his hands on his hips.

"Give it up, Billy," said another man, more stockily built with muscles aplenty, yet just as effeminate in behaviour. Queue jumping, he slipped in between them. "This one’s a fancy feller. He don't speak the lingo." He looked Athos up and down. "Labarge has been spreading it around that you're a queer boy like us."

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion at the far end of the wash house. One of the prisoners was being held down by two guards and was receiving a fierce belting from a third.

"What's going on?" asked Athos.

"The lash is what happens on this row if you get caught having a wank," said Billy. "Toss off on the crapper if you must, though it's best to get a seeing to in the khazi block down here. The screws turn a blind eye to it. Some of them even like to have a go. Labarge loves to catch us at it. He gets off on it, the slimy creep, ‘specially when it’s on the rough side."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Athos as he reached the front of the line and looked down at the film of unappealing grey slime in the available tub. It was a far cry from the baths he’d shared with Porthos and his longing for home, which up until now had been a constant dull ache, evolved suddenly into a sharp chest pain.

He would get through this so they could be together again. He had no chance of getting off, but if he was lucky he might get a sympathetic judge and a lenient jail sentence in a prison near home. Maybe even a fine. Miracles did happen.

The second time Treville visited him, he was holding up well and had been able to give the man a very positive message to pass on to Porthos, coded subtly of course, but something his lover would understand. He'd wondered fleetingly whether Porthos knew any Polari--the secret language of the homosexuals in here--but he didn't fancy asking John to repeat any of those odd phrases parrot fashion.

By the time Treville visited again, however, things were not so rosy. True to their word, the reformers had given Athos pen and paper and he was trying to talk through the notes he had made in preparation for his defence, but his cough was continually plaguing him and making life difficult. The wheezing in his chest also hadn't been helped any by the solid beatings he received regularly at the hands of Labarge.

"You must ask to see a doctor," insisted Treville.

"The doctors have seen me and they don't much care," said Athos, gasping for breath. "Do you have any idea when the trial will be? No one will tell me anything."

Treville snaked his fingers as far as he could manage through the narrow gap in the bars in order to link up with Athos and offer some comfort. "We'll get you out of here soon, I promise. There’ll be no need for a trial."

“I don’t understand,” wheezed Athos, clinging to John’s hand as if it were a life line.

It ended when Labarge peered in and saw what was happening. "No physical contact with the prisoners," he shouted at Treville. "Your visit is over."

"But I still have a full hour left with my client," said Treville, checking his wrist watch.

"Client, my arse,” snarled Labarge. “You queers are all liars. You chose to abuse privileges, so do as I say and get out."

“He’s my friend and my client,” insisted Treville. “He’s unwell and needs to see a physician.”

Athos prayed that John would stop talking. He might not be aware of it, but he was only making matters far worse by this show of dissent. The consequences would not be pleasant.

The guard cuffed Athos behind his back and whilst he was doing so, he leaned in close. "You've just earned yourself a strip search, Nancy. I need to see what kind of contraband your _brief_ has been smuggling inside for you."

"I can assure you I brought nothing with me," said Treville in a panic. "A search will not be necessary. An examination by the doctor would be far more appropriate.”

"John, I’ll be fine," said Athos, in between coughing fits. "Please don't tell anyone about this.” He couldn’t bear the thought of Porthos worrying himself sick.


	29. Chapter 29

As soon as Treville returned from London, Aramis knew that something was very wrong. The man barely said a word and kept away from everyone, barricading himself inside the study, continually on the telephone.

Having had enough of the silent treatment, Aramis knocked on the door and without waiting for a response entered the room, bringing with him a plate of cold cuts, pickles and mash as well as the regulation cup of tea.

"Just leftovers from lunch," he said, placing the tray on the desk. "But you need to keep your strength up so soon after recovery. Doctor's orders."

Treville steepled his hands and sighed. "Thank you, Aramis," he said. "Speaking of medical matters, I'm going to breach a promise I made to Athos earlier and ask you for some advice, and perhaps a favour also. Please take a seat."

Aramis did as asked, lounging casually in the chair and trying to adopt a relaxed air. The mood in here was sombre. "Ask away," he said. "You can trust me not to speak out of turn."

"I very much hope that’s the case,” said Treville, eyeing him sternly. For good reason, to be fair, because spreading gossip _was_ one of Aramis’ failings. “In fact, you must swear not to pass on what I tell you to Anne, and certainly not to Porthos. It would worry them both unnecessarily. There is nothing can be done at present so I'd rather everyone put their efforts into getting Athos out of prison, rather than waste time fretting over his predicament."

"John, what is the problem," said Aramis, leaning forward. "That man is a brother to me."

"And a friend to me," said Treville, eschewing the tea and pouring fingers of whisky into tumblers. "He's sick. His chest is very bad indeed and he tells me the doctors will do nothing about it." He paused. "I also believe he's suffering at the hands of the guards, although I'm not certain to what extent."

"I was afraid of this," said Aramis, wondering how on earth he could carry on blithely knowing what was happening to Athos. "What can be done about it?"

"Actually, I was hoping you'd agree to visit Pentonville with me and put that silver tongue of yours to good use. I believe we need to petition the doctor in charge, perhaps the governor also, and persuade them that Athos needs urgent medical attention. It will have more impact coming from a physician. If you say yes, then I’ll apply for visiting orders and request a meeting immediately."

"Of course it's a yes," said Aramis. "I'll do anything I can to help, and I can assure you that this matter will remain between us."

“Thank you,” said Treville, leaning forward to grip Aramis on the shoulder. 

It was a heartfelt gesture and only served to worry Aramis more. Leaving the man to his supper and letter writing duties, he sat outside on the verandah for a while, smoking cigarette after cigarette whilst he finished his scotch. It hurt to think of Athos suffering in that place, for no good reason whatsoever. He wasn't a monster. He and Porthos were the best of people who had done nothing more than love each other. It was fine to slaughter other men in battle, but to have sex with one was an unspeakable crime.

Falling into bed with Anne at the cottage that night, he wanted nothing more than to hold on to her and be held in return.

"You're so very sad, my darling," she said. "What's the matter?"

"Everything," said Aramis. "Guilt mostly." He sighed. "I hate Athos being in prison. I hate seeing Porthos so depressed. I hate the law and the church and God for deciding that our friends are an abomination." His breath hitched in his throat. "Mostly, I hate myself for being so bloody to them when they first told me."

"You weren't at all bloody," said Anne indignantly. "Look how how much they love you. How much I love you. Would we all care for you so damn much if you were an arse?"

Aramis hugged her and tried to smile at her words. "But I thought terrible things," he confessed. "Worse than I ever let on. I resented their happiness and now I want nothing more than for them to have it back ten times over."

"And they will," assured Anne. "Richelieu is working hard and will succeed. Athos will soon be a free man."

But would it be soon enough, wondered Aramis. He'd never seen Treville so concerned. "I'm going to Pentonville myself," he said, as casually as he could manage. "I've asked Treville to apply for a visiting order on my behalf. Porthos can't go. It would be stupid even to consider that, but at least this way I'll be able to see Athos and pass on any messages. The letters they send each other are pointless being so censored."

"I think that's a wonderful idea," said Anne. "He'll be delighted to see you, Aramis. Thank you."

The visitation orders duly arrived in the post, along with a letter from the governor agreeing a time for a meeting, to be attended by themselves, the doctor and the prison chaplain. 

"I'm covering all bases," said Treville as they set out on the eight o'clock express to Liverpool Street. "I'm hoping that a man of the cloth might show some compassion."

Aramis nodded. "He may," he said, although he rather doubted it. If anything, those in the church showed much less tolerance to homosexuals than anyone else. From the moment they were born, it was banged into Christians how wrong this kind of behaviour was. This was reiterated over and over again at the seminaries. 

"I was surprised Porthos didn’t make more of a fuss about wanting to see Athos, what with you coming with me today," said Treville.

Aramis nodded again and lit a cigarette. To be honest he was in two minds about this. He was relieved to have been able to slip away quietly to find out for himself what was the matter, but it was dreadful to watch Porthos becoming more withdrawn by the day, in a world of his own now and barely even talking to any of them. If it wasn't for Constance, he'd have given up eating altogether.

"He noticed I was going somewhere, but it hardly registered," he said. "He’s so terribly low it's becoming impossible to raise his spirits."

"Then we must do a good job today and make sure his spirits don't have reason to sink any further," said Treville. "May I borrow one of your cigarettes?"

Aramis offered his case. This was another bad sign, only going to prove how nervous Treville was of what he'd find when they reached Pentonville.

As the train rolled into the station Aramis was, himself, attacked by a sudden and unexpected onset of anxiety. London was home to him. He'd grown up in the middle class suburbs. He loved the vibrancy of city life, and as they sped along in the taxi he took it all in: the markets and the people and the familiar caterwaul of the place. Nothing, however, could disguise the fact that they weren't having a shirt made in Jermyn Street or taking tea at the Ritz.

He'd never been inside prison walls before and remained quiet but observant as they entered each new area. 

"I may have been slightly dishonest with the authorities," confessed Treville under his breath. "They believe I'm his solicitor which is why I'm allowed to visit so often."

Aramis had wondered about this and admired the man's bravado. He supposed the deception wasn't too difficult to pull off, after all he'd never been asked for any credentials, other than army ones, his entire life. "Good thinking," he said with a nod of approval.

Despite having prior warning, he was shocked to discover how sick Athos actually was. He'd brought his medical bag with him, more for show than anything, but on seeing his friend’s poor state of health was determined to make good use of it. Athos was barely able to walk and had to be helped over to the chair by a guard, who, Aramis was pleased to note, was treating him with a degree of kindness.

"I'm his doctor and I need to examine him now," he called across the divide.

Athos remained slumped in the chair, the guard looming over him and staring at his visitors through the bars. "You stay where you are," he said to Treville. "You." He looked at Aramis. “Leave the room and walk to the door at the end of the corridor. I'll let you through."

Aramis did as he was told, hiding a shudder when the door slammed shut behind him and he was temporarily incarcerated. How must Athos have felt knowing that there was no endpoint in sight?

"I shouldn't be doing this. They'll have my guts for garters if they find out, but that poor bastard in there needs a break. The doctors here won't even take a look at him." The guard shoved Aramis into the reverse side of the visitor's room. "Be quick. Don't cause me any trouble now."

Slowly becoming aware that he was no longer alone, Athos looked up at the two men. "Thank you, Mr Wright," he said in a weak rasp of a voice. "Hello, Aramis. It's good to see your handsome face."

"It's good to see yours too," smiled Aramis. "Though it would have been even better to find you well."

He began an examination, using his instruments to check temperature, blood pressure as well as heart and lung function. He managed to hold his tongue when confronted by the evidence of the beatings, at least until the check up was over. 

"Is there anywhere else I need to examine you?" he asked in a low voice. "Have the assaults been more intrusive?"

Athos shook his head slowly. "No. Nothing more discomforting than internal examinations so far."

Aramis breathed again. It was a relief to hear it, but Athos clearly had no faith that things would remain this way. They must act fast. "You have fluid on both lungs. You need to be in a warm dry place and to be treated with oxygen if possible." He lowered his voice to a murmur. "You need to get out of here now, chéri. Anne has employed Richelieu on your behalf and you will only be a fool to yourself and cruel to Porthos if you continue to argue against it. Do you understand me?"

Athos nodded weakly.

"Good," said Aramis. "Treville and I have a meeting with the governor today and I'll threaten to bring the walls crashing down on him if he doesn't ensure that you’re treated well for the remainder of the time you’re in here."

"He won't listen," said Athos listlessly. "I'm done for. Tell Porthos-" He paused, gasping for breath. "You know what to tell Porthos."

"I'll tell him you'll see him soon," said Aramis, walking over to the door. "You keep your bloody chin up and you keep fighting, you hear me."

He didn't look back, couldn't bear to see Athos so broken.

"How is he?" asked Treville as they hurried along corridors to meet with the governor.

"Bad," said Aramis. “Very bad indeed.”

They carried on walking in silence, following one of the guards who whistled as he went, evidently happy with his lot in life, and Aramis resisted a strong urge to punch the man, wondering if it was he who took pleasure in beating Athos. 

The surroundings inside the building changed dramatically once they’d left the main body of the prison and moved into the relative luxury of the administration wing. Their meeting was taking place informally in the governor’s private suite of rooms, the five men seated in comfort around a roaring fire, sipping from glasses of expensive whisky. The contrast was a disgrace and Aramis and Treville exchange looks of mutual disapproval. Of course, the prisoners didn’t deserve to live in luxury, but neither should they be brutalised on a daily basis, nor presided over by a governor who was entirely detached from the reality of prison life.

"Lord Lafère is suffering from pneumonia," said Aramis, pushing his prejudices aside for the sake of Athos’ well being. "As I'm sure you’re aware, he survived two gas poisonings in the war whilst serving in Flanders and, because of it, his lungs are in a very poor state. He needs to be in the hospital wing and be treated with a constant supply of oxygen to help him recover." Aramis glared at the doctor. "Have you the facilities here?"

"Yes," said the man. "But-"

"Don't bother with excuses," interrupted Treville. "If I see no evidence that my client is being taken better care of the next time I visit, then I shall be instructing his barrister, Mr Richelieu, to petition the courts."

That name worked a treat, noted Aramis in amazement as he watched the governor shrink into himself. What secrets was the man hiding?

"That will not be necessary," said the governor, his demeanour having altered dramatically. "I’ll see to it in person that he’s moved to the hospital wing."

"Where I'm sure he will be treated with kindness," said Aramis, looking at all three men in turn. "I’ve examined him thoroughly. I’m fully aware of the extent of his injuries, as, I am certain, are you. Brutality is a criminal offence."

"He will be treated in accordance with guidelines," said the chaplain.

"And that is all we ask," said Treville.

They parted stiffly, two warring sides in an uncomfortable accord with each other, both knowing where each other stood.

"I would leave here more happily having seen him safely in his hospital bed," said Aramis looking back at the gargantuan doors of the prison.

"You've done a marvellous job today," said Treville, patting him on the back. "Better than I ever hoped for." 

"Let's pray it's enough," said Aramis, hailing a cab. He might love London, but he couldn't wait to get home and see Anne.

The weeks passed by sluggishly. Aramis didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't concentrate on a thing, racing to talk to John as soon as he returned from his regular prison visits, relieved to hear to hear that the news was encouraging. 

"His health is improving each time," said the older man. "He was fit enough to come to the visitor's room today."

A tough little shit, was how Anne had once described Athos and Aramis was beginning to think that she was right and that his friend was unstoppable.

Porthos, however, was less resilient. He'd gone from listless to fractious, his mood changing as soon as Aramis passed on the message from Athos. It was all he could do to keep the man from racing up to London to beat down the doors of Pentonville with a battering ram. Thank heavens he didn't know the full story of how much Athos was suffering during his remand. 

"Aramis, I need to have a word with you in the study as soon as breakfast is over," said Treville as they were dishing up bowls of porridge.

Aramis looked over his shoulder, aware that every wall had a set of ears. "Please don't tell me it's bad news. I couldn't take-"

"It's not," said Treville, gripping his arm briefly and letting loose a smile. "It's anything but. However, I can't say more right now."

The meal went by with Aramis barely tasting a thing. He kept recalling that fleeting expression of joy on Treville's face and knew, without doubt, what it must mean.

"Tell me," he said as soon as the study door had closed behind them.

"Richelieu telephoned first thing," said Treville. "He put his case to Rochefort last night and the man backed down immediately, terrified of the consequences. His lawyer will be going in front of the judge this morning and dropping all charges. We're to meet Richelieu at Pentonville. We must borrow Athos' car to get there on time." He clasped Aramis by the upper arms in an unusually demonstrative show of affection. "We've done it, young man. We've only bloody done it."

Making their excuses, they unfurled the tarpaulin cover from the Rolls and Aramis cranked her up. The rain was pouring down and he stretched the leather top over the motor car and locked it into position.

"Should Porthos not come with us?" he asked.

"I wish he could," said Treville as he reversed the car out into the drive. "But I'm afraid that rumours may have spread concerning the identity of the unnamed man and we don't want to start any unnecessary speculation." He turned into the road. "I also worry that it might be too much of a shock for his system to find out how ill Athos has been. Neither of them are in tip top condition."

Aramis nodded, agreeing with the man's common sense and ever grateful for that never ending show of compassion. Treville was a possessive soul in the kindest possible way. "I can't believe this is actually happening," he said as they raced around bends and onto the highways.

"Nor I," said Treville. "But let's not count our chickens until Athos is safely in the car and we're on the road home to Woodbridge."

Pulling up to Pentonville in a Rolls Royce seemed terribly inappropriate to Aramis, despite the fact that there was another, of a similar model, parked directly in front of them.

"So," said Richelieu as he exited the motor car. "I'm surprised young Porthos didn't insist on coming with you today. Still, I'm glad you took my advice, John. The press are like hound dogs, experts at sniffing out a story. It seems, however, that all the right people have been encouraged to leave this particular piece of tattle well alone."

God, but the man loved the sound of his own voice, thought Aramis, unsure still whether to be grateful or disgusted. He must be a marvel to listen to in court, full of guile and pulsating with pride at his own performance. Today, though, he deserved some recognition for doing a good thing.

"We're to wait for him here," continued Richelieu as they gathered outside the gates "A little unceremonious, but they don't go in for fanfares in the prison service." He shrugged. "In fact I find this all rather drab. Milady and I will meet you back at the Manor. A more suitable venue for celebrations, I feel."

"Thank you, Richelieu," said Treville, stretching out his arm. "We truly appreciate your efforts."

"It was nothing, old chap." The lawyer took him by the hand and shook it firmly. "Perhaps now you might even lower yourself to calling me by my Christian name."

"By no means lowering," said Treville, his hand still encompassed within Richelieu's. "Thank you, Armand."

"Are we going anytime soon?" said a bored voice from inside the other Rolls Royce. "This weather's playing havoc with my hair."

Rather like her boss, Milady de Winter was one of a kind, thought Aramis as he watched them drive off in the motor. The Athos he’d first made acquaintance with would be a good match for her, but not the gentle spirited fellow he’d learned to know and love as a brother. That man belonged solely to Porthos.

They had to suffer an interminably long wait before the gates finally opened and Athos appeared in front of them, a hand raised to his forehead to ward off the sunlight. His suit was too baggy on him now and he looked startled--a deer caught in the headlights--but he was alive and well, fit enough to be walking, increasing his pace to an unsteady jog, an expression of utter relief on his face, as soon as he caught sight of them.

His breathless collapse became a three way hug, a heartfelt embrace between friends who were no longer afraid of showing emotion. The war had taught them that lesson well.

"I'm sorry that Porthos was not here for this," said Aramis, bitterly regretting their decision. "But we felt it was for the best."

"And you were right," said Athos, covering his mouth as he coughed, his legs turning to jelly as the two men held him up. "I'll see him soon enough."


	30. Chapter 30

Now that the wheels were set in motion, time rolled by like a ponderous engine, steam rollering whatever was in its path: every hope, every dream, until there was nothing left but this flat, empty feeling.

A week turned into one and then two and then three, and with nothing to do but panic, Porthos experienced, in slow motion, the gradual approach of madness, the entirety of his life taken up by thoughts of Athos.

"You'll see him soon," promised Aramis. "He told me to tell you he loves you." 

He was clearly troubled and Porthos wanted to shake the truth out of him until the teeth rattled in his head. "I love him too," he said slowly. "I can't bear much more of this."

"I know," said Aramis. "Be strong for him. Pray if you can."

Porthos didn't have a god. He'd prayed relentlessly for death in the trenches and even that call had not been answered, though he'd seen enough of it all around him. He and Athos had made their own happiness. They'd looked after each other and they didn't need anyone else stepping in. No higher power would look upon them with anything but loathing. 

“I have to see him,” he begged, bursting in on Treville and Richelieu when they were cloistered in the study again, conferring together and discussing the progress of the case against Rochefort. “I know there’s something the matter. I can tell from the way Aramis is behaving.”

Why was everyone allowed visiting orders but him? Why would no one listen to his pleas?

“Calm yourself, Porthos,” said Richelieu. “This kind of hysterical nonsense won’t help your belovéd Athos one bit.”

Irritation built until Porthos was close to breaking point. “You don’t understand," he said. "I’m going out of my mind stuck here, living the high life in the country when he’s banged up in a prison cell. Please, I beg you. Let me go see him.”

“Athos is fine,” reassured Treville, standing up and resting an arm around Porthos to soothe his frayed nerves. “I asked Aramis to accompany me in a professional capacity in order to convince the prison doctors to keep an eye on Athos' chest, so please stop your fretting. We're finally getting somewhere, my lad. Trust me.”

Despite having an enormous amount of respect for Treville, it was a difficult task to do as he asked, however Porthos was left with no choice. Unable to do anything practical to help, he now spent most of his time up at the stables, helping Jacques with horses. He wasn't going to attempt to ride--teaching him would be Athos' job as soon as he returned home--but he was at least growing comfortable around all the animals, not just Geoffrey who had become his greatest sounding board and shoulder to cry on.

"Porthos, Porthos, Porthos," said Aramis, leaning against the door frame and smiling at him. "Have you really spent yet another entire day here hiding away from the world? Come back to the house and get washed up for dinner."

"Is it that time already?" said Porthos in disbelief.

"Close to it," said Aramis as he draped an arm around Porthos. "Jacques'll finish up for you."

As they walked around the back of the Manor, entering the house by way of the scullery door, the chuntering of conversation from the kitchen was louder than normal, too loud for Porthos' ears and he longed to get away from it.

Washing his face and hands in the huge, chipped sink, he dried off on a towel and looked askance at Aramis who was jiggling impatiently from foot to foot.

"Go have a piss if you need one, mate," he said, tired of watching him dance. "I'm not stopping you."

In response to his words, the noise level in the kitchen dropped immediately to a sudden silence and Porthos peered around the door to see what was going on. There were more people here than usual, quite a party in fact with Richelieu and Milady an addition to the usual suspects, all of them gathered around the table. It was then that Porthos took in the figure propped up against the dresser, unfamiliar cropped hair and just a scruff of stubble on his chin, but a more wonderful sight than ever before. He ran, the first time he'd done so in years, crashing into Athos then taking him into his arms and clinging on so very tightly.

"I am never letting you go again," he breathed, fighting back tears. "I don't know how you got here and I don't bloody care, but I'm never letting you go."

"Charming," said Richelieu. "All that work I put into getting him off the charges and you don't care how we arrived at this point?"

"Leave the boys alone, Armand," smiled Treville. "They've been through enough."

"I second that," said Porthos, clamping both hands down on Athos' shoulders and pushing him back a little to make sure that he was here and real. "You all right?"

"I am now," said Athos with a huff of laughter and a grin that was made up of sheer relief.

"So, what _did_ happen?" asked Porthos, still not entirely sure that this wasn’t a dream.

"With a little digging around and the occasional exchange of banknotes, Milady and I built up quite the dossier on your adversary, Lord Rochefort," said Richelieu. "Once presented with the facts and the choices available to him, he was quick in coming to a decision that suited us all."

Athos was once again back in his arms, but he was short enough in stature that Porthos was able to stare accusingly at the others over top of him. “You could’ve said something.” 

"I didn't want to get your hopes up," said Treville. "But once I received the news from Richelieu to say that all the charges had been dropped I knew that Athos would be released immediately, and so Aramis and I raced up to London to collect him."

"I would have gone with you," said Porthos still accusing.

"And we wanted you to be there more than anything,” said Treville earnestly. ”But we decided it wasn’t worth the risk in case the journalists were out in force. Your future is at stake. The less people who know about you, the better. As it happens, Armand has done an excellent job of keeping everyone off the trail."

The two former enemies smiled at each other across the breadth of the kitchen table and Richelieu rubbed his fingers and thumb together in that age old signifier of money.

"And so here I am," said Athos, looking up at Porthos. "And I’m inordinately grateful to you all."

"Don't mention it, young man," said Richelieu blithely. "It was an easy case and I've been rewarded exceptionally well for my efforts by Lady Bourbon."

"I'll reimburse you, of course, as soon as possible," said Athos turning to Anne.

"There's no hurry, darling," said Anne, smiling at him. "The money couldn’t go to a better cause."

"Actually, I think it could," said Milady, her green eyes lighting up as she looked at Anne then Aramis. "I have a proposition to make that may change your mind."

The noisy chatter was too much for Porthos and one glance told him that Athos was even more overwhelmed than he was. The solitary existence of the last couple of months had clearly taken its toll on him. He was also thin and wan, his wheeze continual, far worse than it had been when he’d first come back home.

"Can we go upstairs?" asked Porthos in a low voice. Athos looked slightly startled by this suggestion, even more so when Porthos reached out to grip his hand. "I need to be somewhere quiet with you. Just us, eh?"

Athos nodded, and if all eyes were on them when they left the room together then nobody said a word.


	31. Chapter 31

Ensconced in the bedroom, they did nothing for the first five minutes but cling to one another, neither of them, it seemed, convinced that this was real. Falling prey to another bout of coughing, Athos shivered in Porthos' arms.

“It’s my turn to take care of you,” said Porthos, his voice breaking with emotion.

Athos had never heard such a beautiful sentence in his life. Unfortunately he was lost: not sure if he was guilty of anything, certain that he was unworthy of the huge amount of kindness shown to him by everyone. 

"Am I really back?" he asked once the coughing fit had abated.

Porthos held on to him, anchoring him in place. "You're back and from now on we're sticking together. I’m not having anyone tell us any different. I’m not letting you out of my sight."

"But they’ll all know," said Athos in a monotone. The reaction was hitting him hard and he felt unclean, inside and out. Filthy, dirty, lousy. "I need to wash the prison off me." It was a poison far worse than mustard gas.

"Then let me take care of you," said Porthos once again, his face falling when Athos backed off from him, on edge and anxious. "Don't push me away, love, _please_. I wanted to be there for you. I begged Treville to let me come and visit, but he said it would only cause more trouble for you inside. I'm sorry. Don't hate me."

So what if there was gossip about them? It was true enough what they'd be saying and the idea that he'd made Porthos this miserable, so soon after being reunited, was unbearable. "You're the one thing that kept me going whilst I was in there," said Athos, his voice barely a whisper. "Why would I hate you? How could I _ever_ hate you? I love you."

Kissing was his proper homecoming. Porthos' mouth was heaven, his beard rough, his lips soft, his tongue a sensuous delight. He tasted of tea and mint, of warmth and comfort and safety, and Athos could have happily drowned in him for the rest of his days.

"I adore every single one of those people downstairs, and that even includes Richelieu and your ex, but sod the lot of them," grinned Porthos, coming up for air. "I'm not sharing you with a soul. If they're intending to throw you a welcome home party then they'll be disappointed, because we won't be leaving the bedroom for days."

"Except to go to the bathroom," said Athos. "I really must wash away the stench of Pentonville before I go out of my mind."

“Right you are,” said Porthos and he kept his eyes on Athos at all times as if he were something precious. ”One bath on its way. Come on.”

Making sure to shake free of Porthos’ hand before leaving the bedroom, Athos was again startled when Porthos recaptured it. “I- I’m not sure.” His voice petered away to nothing.

“We’re safe. I promise.” Porthos let go and slid his arm around Athos’ waist, holding him up when he began to run out of energy. “You didn’t get sick with the flu in there, did you?”

“No.” Athos learnt against him. “It was just the cold. Didn’t do me much good.”

“I’ll make you better.”

True to Porthos’ word, he took care of Athos, turning on the taps and kissing him whilst the bath was running, then undressing him and kissing him some more.

"Jump in," he said once he deemed the water to be perfect.

This would be the third time they'd bathed together, and each one had been at a significant moment in their lives. The first had marked the end of their night together as lovers, and the second had been to welcome Porthos back to the world. This was a reversal of the latter, and as Athos climbed into the water and lay in Porthos' arms he felt reborn.

"You're hurt," said Porthos in a worried voice as he washed him with a flannel, noticing, for the first time, the yellowing remains of the bruises.

"I'm fine," said Athos. "Other than fifteen minutes of exercise time every day, I was left alone in my cell with a pile of books to read. The food was better than army rations. I even had a private WC and basin. It was positively luxurious." No word of a lie.

"And the bruising?" Porthos rinsed the lather out of his hair.

"One of the guards, Labarge, didn't take too kindly to having a queer under his charge," said Athos, sighing with pleasure as Porthos massaged his shoulders. "But the worst I ever got was a beating and a few threats." Again it was the truth. He would tell more of his story in dribs and drabs, but for now it was enough.

"Did anyone mess around with you?" asked Porthos quietly.

Athos looked up at him. "No. There were plenty of other homosexuals in there, enough to go around. I think Labarge would have done more than threaten if he'd the chance, but Treville and Aramis made certain I was safe."

"Thank god for them," said Porthos, tightening his hold on Athos. "If I ever get hold of that guard I'll rip his bloody head clean off his shoulders."

Athos turned to look at him, mystified. "You would too, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would." Porthos frowned and then kissed him on the mouth over and over again as if to prove that he wasn't the subject of his anger.

"I'm truly not the delicate flower you think I am." Athos found himself laughing in between each one of those myriad kisses. He’d forgotten what it was like to be happy.

"No, you’re not, but you belong to me," said Porthos, sliding a hand down to squeeze Athos' cock. "And I take care of what's mine."

A couple of strokes of that palm and Athos was close to coming. Masturbation in prison was a risky business and the one time he'd managed to relieve himself of his frustrations, the paranoia had been so overwhelming afterwards that he'd decided against doing it again. Seeing Porthos again had reawoken his slumbering libido and his body had thrummed with desire ever since, quite possibly the reason he’d been feeling so awkward since coming home.

"Can we go to bed?" he asked. "I need you to put me back together." Then he remembered the last time they’d been having sex in there and felt sick with nerves. "If you’re sure we’re safe?"

"Of course we are," reassured Porthos. "The only people here are our friends.”

Again Athos was uncertain. Richelieu may have helped him get out, but his reputation preceded him and as for Milady de Winter, well she was a stranger. The Anne de Breuil he had once known intimately was gone. The few words they’d exchanged, on his arrival at the Manor, had proved that they'd been nothing but a fiction to each other.

“They’re good and kind,” reiterated Porthos. “But until you feel safe we'll not let anyone else in this house." His legs were sturdy enough by now that he was able to vault out of the bath. “Do you trust me?”

"Of course I trust you," said Athos, pushing his blasted fears to one side and managing a smile. "I’m also impressed at your level of fitness.” The scars were the only remaining evidence of Porthos' war wounds. He was the weak one now, wheezing from the effort as he tried to stand up.

"Been getting strong for you," said Porthos in a gruff voice as he put on his dressing gown and helped Athos out of the tub. "I’m glad too because you're bloody gorgeous. A sight for sore eyes."

Athos was all too aware that he wasn't at his best, paler than ever from lack of sunlight, sallow from sickness and much too thin, but he also knew that Porthos meant what he said. "And you're positively demented if you think that," he smirked, but his cock responded to the words, swelling and stiffening with desire as he clung to that big body.

Porthos held him tight, pushing up against him, hard against his hip. "I'd have you right here," he said, relinquishing hold and helping him on with his robe. "If only the oil weren't in a drawer in our room."

 _Our room_. They were simple words, but so very wonderful to hear. Athos had never stopped thinking of the place. It was where he and Porthos had become friends. Shared secrets and then a bed. Stole kisses and finally learned how to love each other completely. 

Unlocking the bathroom door, Athos peered up and down the landing, making certain, this time, that the coast was clear. He wondered how long it would take him to get over this debilitating fear. 

"The key’s long gone, but we'll put a bolt on here, I think," he said as soon as they were safely in the bedroom. Wheezing from the effort, he jammed a chair up against the door handle and felt secure enough then to finally give in to that ever present need. In a frenzy he divested them of their dressing gowns and pressed himself against Porthos' naked body. "Show me how much you missed me."

The room was freezing cold and they buried themselves beneath the blankets and heavy Candlewick bedspread, curled face to face so they could kiss, enjoying each other's mouths until they were both overheated and aching with love.

Reaching over to the drawer, Porthos fumbled for the oil, his hands shaking as he touched Athos, sliding two fingers inside him and then spreading them gently apart. 

Athos moaned out his pleasure, pushing against Porthos and urging him on. "Do it, Porthos. Fuck me," he breathed. "I can't wait."

"My beautiful, impatient man," laughed Porthos, rolling on top of him. "I'm going to put you back together, just like you asked me to, slow as can be. Then I'm going to do it again and again until there's nothing left inside you but me."

"Just do it," begged Athos. "Make me feel it. I need you. I love you." His litany grew louder and more insistent as Porthos remained poised, grinning down at him, a hand forcing his hips down onto the mattress.

"That's it," he said. "Stay still. I want to feel every bit of you."

Athos fought off the frustration and lay placid beneath him. Eyes widening, he gazed upward as little by little Porthos entered him and, bearing down, he accepted him completely. With his legs hitched up and locked around Porthos' big body, he finally felt whole again. Safe at last, he stretched out and reached for Porthos' mouth, proving the strength of his love with infinite kisses.

It was a roll, a slide, a press of bodies as they rocked together, strung out on sex and that all consuming need for each other. Impatient now they pushed on, linked by kisses and cock, with Athos' erection sandwiched between them, worked by the friction rub of coarse hair and the play of their muscles.

"I love you," Athos groaned as he arched up, clenching around Porthos who cried out with delight and thrust deep into him with a fluid rhythm, filling him with heat and a lightness of being. He was home.

“Love you too,” said Porthos. “Love you always. Can't believe you’re here.” He choked up. “I never thought it was going to happen.”

“I didn’t either,” admitted Athos.

"So are you going to tell me the truth now?" said Porthos as they lay cuddled together in the darkness.

“The truth about what?” asked Athos. He hadn’t lied about anything.

“How it really was for you when you were inside,” said Porthos. “I’m not an idiot, love. I’m not falling for the whole luxury accommodation bollocks. You weren’t at the bloody Savoy.”

"It was tremendously boring, in the most part,” said Athos, lapsing into a long silence and wondering how best to explain. “But I was frightened all the time," he added. "And when I got sick it was even worse. I almost gave up." The last words were a quiet confession. He’d tried to stay strong for Porthos, but in the end it had been too much.

"But you didn't." Porthos kissed the top of his head. “You kept fighting.”

"I suppose I did," agreed Athos. "But I'm not sure what it was for. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now, Porthos. We’re still a couple of queers doing something illegal, only now it’s even worse because everyone knows about us."

Porthos shook him gently. “Don’t think like that.”

“What am I supposed to think?” Athos turned away from him. “What can we do?”

"How about we simply get on with our lives," said Porthos, spooning up behind him and rubbing tense shoulders. "We don't have to make a show of things. We’ll keep it quiet. Be a lot more sensible than we were in the past. We can even set aside one of the cottages for me, if that makes you more comfortable. We’ll do whatever we have to, but as far as I'm concerned we have every right to be together and I’ll move heaven and bloody earth to make sure it happens. You didn’t go through this for nothing."

Succumbing to a coughing fit, Athos enjoyed the feel of that big hand rubbing at his back. It gave him time to think, a chance to process everything that Porthos had said. Perhaps being together _was_ a possibility. Life in the countryside was different. Quieter, more reflective, more accepting of the unusual. They were an extended family who looked after their own.

"I think you might be right," he said, once he was able to speak.

“Of course I’m right.” Porthos laughed softly. “I reckon I will have that cottage though,” he said. “It’ll be useful for when we have fights.”

“We won’t fight,” said Athos, shaking his head. “We never have. We never will.”

“Yeah, we will.” Porthos kissed the back of his neck and tucked up against him. “We’ll fight and we’ll fuck ourselves back to being friends, but we’ll never stop being happy together.”

“And what about the people who don’t like it?” asked Athos. “The Rocheforts of this world.”

"Well, they can go take a running jump,” said Porthos in the gruffest of voices, poking Athos when he chuckled in delight at that much loved phrase. “Now stop making fun of me and let's go to sleep, eh love. I haven’t had a proper night’s rest since you’ve been gone."

“I haven’t either,” said Athos, though he didn’t feel the slightest bit tired.

At ease, captured in Porthos’ arms, things soon changed and in an instant he dozed off and then slept like the dead. Waking to a brilliantly sunlit room and disappointingly empty bed, he rubbed his eyes and then stared at the alarm clock, shocked to see that it was gone half past ten. 

Throwing on some of yesterday's clothes he went hunting for Porthos, but found only Anne, who was in the kitchen, still enjoying the simplicity of a domestic life at the Manor. Athos wondered vaguely whether he would be expected to employ servants once again now that things were settling down. Maybe a girl to the cleaning once or twice a week would suffice. They already had Jacques for the stable duties and gardening.

"Not that I'm ever anything but happy to see you nowadays," said Athos. "But shouldn't you be back at Rendlesham? Surely your husband's not still cloistered in France. I was certain he'd be enjoying all the scandal."

"You know Louis. He's oblivious to anything but himself." Anne huffed in irritation as she pottered around the kitchen. "Actually, he is back and he did make a few rotten remarks about you, but I held my tongue and he soon got bored. He’s spending most of his time with Rochefort in London at the gaming tables, so Aramis and I are making the most of it whilst we can."

"And so you must," said Athos, hoping fervently, for all their sakes, that both men would fall foul of the gangs who preyed on rich idiots in the city. Rochefort was already on borrowed time now that some ugly truths were circulating. A predilection for murder was far more of a stain on the character than a desire for other men. At least it ought to be.

Anne looked him up and down as she handed him a cup of tea. "You're a mess, Ollie,” she said, tutting at his dishabille. "Couldn't you even be bothered to put a shirt on over that vest?"

Athos sat at the table, his exhaustion getting the better of him. "Honestly, no,” he said with a smile and a shrug. “It’s my house and I’ll dress as I please."

"Neither the army nor a stint in prison has managed to change your ways." Anne shook her head. "Can anything ever smarten you up?"

"Only Porthos and he doesn't care how I look?" Athos sipped his tea. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Seeing to the horses," said Anne. "He's become quite the groom since you've been away."

"How stupid of me," said Athos, running a hand through his cropped hair and jumping to his feet. "I'd forgotten all about them."

"Put this on first," said Anne, throwing him one of Porthos' discarded sweaters. "They'll all throttle me if I let you out in the cold half dressed when you're still recovering from pneumonia."

"Yes, ma’am," said Athos as he pulled on a pair of boots.

"And wear a coat," she shouted as he headed for the door. "And a scarf."

The weather was bright but crisp and Athos was glad he'd taken Anne's advice as he ambled up to the stables. Even though he'd only been away for a couple of months, everything here seemed different, stunningly beautiful, the greenery glistening with frost and sparkling in the sunshine. Nothing, however, was more precious to him than the sight of Porthos leading Sonnet and Geoffrey out into the paddock, talking away to them as if they were his best friends.

"I thought those two didn't get along,' said Athos as he watched them gambol like foals around the enclosure with Murphy glaring at them superciliously from a distance, refusing to lower himself by joining in with their play.

Porthos shut the gate and came over to stand next to him. "They bonded when Murph got colic and had to stay inside for a couple of days. She makes sure Geoff eats his dinner. She's a good old thing."

"I hardly recognise him," said Athos, shocked by the transformation. Geoffrey's dun coat shone and he'd filled out vastly in such a short time, no longer that miserable looking sack of bones. "Have you ridden him yet?"

Porthos shook his head and glanced at Athos. "Been waiting for my teacher to come home, haven't I?"

Athos wanted so much to kiss Porthos, but mindful of decorum he made do with a squeeze of fingers. "Shall we tack Geoff up and take him to the lower paddock?"

"And there was I thinking you'd be risking your health and my patience by taking Sonnet out for a gallop," said Porthos, squeezing his fingers back.

"That can wait until I have someone to go riding with," said Athos, looking forward, all of a sudden, to sharing every moment of his life with Porthos. "How have people in the village been?" he asked, staring awkwardly down at his toes. "Since what happened."

“Fine mostly.” Porthos shrugged. "A few cold shoulders here and there, but nothing we can't handle. They're good folks."

Athos nodded. It was as he had hoped. The people here were kind and he and Porthos could weather anything as long as they were together.


	32. Chapter 32

"I can't believe we've agreed to this," aid Aramis, as he paced up and down in front of the fireplace. "We could wind up in big trouble."

"Why?" said Anne. "We're not actually doing anything wrong."

"Only framing someone in order to blackmail them," Aramis retorted. He knew he was speaking out of turn, but he'd been at odds with the world ever since Louis had arrived home and imperiously demanded his wife's immediate return to Rendlesham Hall.

Anne glared at him. "Then I'll cancel my arrangements with Milady and we'll just carry on as we have been, stealing the odd five minutes here and there for a romp in the bushes." Her frown intensified. "Perhaps that's all you ever wanted from me."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Aramis, checking his watch again. "What time was she supposed to be calling us?"

On cue, the telephone jangled and both of them raced for the study.

"Steady," said Porthos, sidestepping them neatly in order to avoid a collision. "Why such a hurry?"

"Business," yelled Aramis, picking up the instrument from the desk. "Woodbridge 12, Herblay speaking."

"It's Milady," came a familiar sultry voice. "Is Anne there?"

Aramis passed over the telephone and crowded in to hear both sides of the conversation.

"Well?" demanded Anne. "Am I seeing any result for my money?"

She'd already handed over fifty pounds just to have Milady meet and flirt with her husband.

"Patience, dear," said Milady in her usual condescending fashion. "He's very receptive to my charms, as eager as a puppy in fact. He's taking me away for the weekend to a hotel in Brighton."

"Oh," said Anne and her face dropped a little. Aramis supposed that even if a marriage was less than perfect, it was hard to hear that one's spouse was so open to adultery. "Good news then."

"I need to know if you wish me to proceed as planned," said Milady. "If so then I'll hire the photographer."

"Go ahead and do it," said Anne firmly.

Aramis looked askance at her and she pursed her lips in response. "It is what we both want, isn't it?" she mouthed.

Could he live with himself if the payoff from it was marrying Anne? The answer, he decided, was a resounding yes. "Of course it is," he answered, curling an arm around her waist. A life together was finally within their grasp. 

The rightness of the decision was further emphasised to him when he saw how happy Athos and Porthos were, loving every moment of their newfound domesticity. With Treville now moved out to the farm and Constance having taken up residence in the village, Aramis was left feeling rather like a spare prick at a wedding. His friends did their utmost to make him welcome and were never anything more than affectionate with each other in public, but the undercurrent was always there, a hum between them, an unspoken conversation that was all about love. 

Aramis longed for that kind of close relationship with Anne and couldn't wait for this business with Louis to be over so they could finally get on with their lives.

"You look miserable, mate," said Porthos as he removed his muddy boots and washed his hands after a day spent outside in the fresh air. "Not having second thoughts about the big plan are you?"

Porthos, being an upfront man, had never been too keen on the idea of setting Louis up this way, but he still remained a supportive friend. 

"No," said Aramis. "I just want it to be over so I can have the kind of life you and Athos are enjoying. Where is his Lordship, by the way?"

"He's taken Murphy out for a gallop," said Porthos. "The poor old boy was feeling neglected and getting a bit bad tempered. I managed to ride to the village today, got Geoffrey all the way up to a canter. He wasn't too impressed, I can tell you." 

Aramis laughed, imagining the look of disillusionment on the horse's face at having to work hard. It turned out that he was quite the slacker.

"Oh, you'll never guess who passed us by in his motor," said Porthos. "Inconsiderate, just as you'd expect. Beeping his horn and waving. Not even slowing down for a second. Nearly had Athos off Sonnet, but Geoff didn't so much as blink," he added with pride.

Aramis was stumped. The inconsiderate part made him think of Rochefort, but friendly waving ruled that out. "I have no idea. Don't keep me in suspense."

"Richelieu," said Porthos. "And rumour has it he's been seen around here quite often, visiting a certain gentleman farmer we know and love."

"Porthos," said Aramis, shaking his head, an amused smile on his face. "You of all people should know better than to gossip about such things."

Porthos shrugged and grinned. "It was just something Bea mentioned while I was picking up a few bits and pieces in the shop."

"It does explain why they were both so sympathetic to Athos' plight," mused Aramis.

"And all that arguing," said Porthos. "There must have been a whole lot of pent up sexual frustration between them."

"Don't you dare." Aramis snorted. "I do _not_ want to think about those two in bed together."

"Having a nice angry fuck," sniggered Porthos. "I wonder who goes on top."

"Stop it," said Aramis, threatening him with a handy rolling pin. "I can quite believe it of Richelieu, but Treville? He always seems so manly."

"Oi!" said Porthos and this time the rolling pin came close to being used as a cosh.

Athos was thoroughly disapproving of the gossip about Treville when he joined them later in the kitchen.

“It's none of our business,” he declared as he fetched in a basket of kindling, ready to light fires for the evening.

“We’ve been invited over to the farm for dinner on Friday,” said Porthos full of devilment. “I bet you five guineas Richelieu’ll be there.”

“No, he won’t.” Athos narrowed his eyes. “And nor will you try to ferret anything out of Treville whilst we’re his guests.”

Pothos winked at Aramis. “You distract them and I’ll have a nosey about the place to see what I can uncover.”

“I’ll bring my box of magic tricks,” said Aramis with a rather forced smile. The news of yet _another_ happy couple was only making him more depressed. 

He was beginning to give up any hope of having a proper relationship with Anne. Milady's initial plan had been a disaster, the photographer failing to turn up at the designated hotel room, and although another plot was in the pipeline, it was painfully slow in coming to fruition. 

On the plus side, with Louis now desperately enamoured of his new love, it meant that Aramis and Anne could be spend a lot more time together at the Manor. Luckily, this didn't arouse any suspicion seeing as Anne had been a close friend of Athos since they were children and the general assumption amongst locals was that she was being supportive to him following his spell in prison.

Today, though, she was running very late and Aramis was on the verge of a panic attack. She'd only recently learned to drive and what if she'd run off the road and crashed into a tree or a drainage ditch? By the time the Rolls sped up the to the front of the Manor, Aramis was past caring what anyone might think and rushed out to greet her.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, holding her by the hands then shepherding her towards the safety of the house. "I was worried sick."

"Darling, I’m so sorry for frightening you. I would have telephoned if I could, but things were just too frenetic.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “It's happened, Aramis. It's all worked out just as we hoped it would. Louis has admitted to an affair and has agreed to allow me to divorce him as long as we keep the matter private."

Aramis was shaking. Could it finally be real? 

"He wants our marriage to be wound up as quickly as possible," she continued, bubbling over with joy. "I had a quiet word with Milady and she's more than happy to keep seeing Louis for the time being. Apparently he’s been very generous and she finds him rather sweet and undemanding as a lover."

"That's a tad mercenary of her," said Aramis, though in all honesty he couldn't give a damn about the man’s well being. Athos had been right all along; Louis Bourbon was a prick.

"We'll have to be extra careful until things are settled of course," she added. 

"I'm tired of being careful," said Aramis, waltzing her around the hall floor. "But I suppose if we must." He laughed until tears of joy ran down his face and the sound of jubilation alerted both Porthos and Athos, who joined them from different directions to discover the cause of the commotion.

"We're free," said Anne, throwing herself at Athos. "I'm getting a divorce."

"Wonderful news." Athos kissed the top of her head. 

"We must celebrate," said Anne.

"Don't you dare think of throwing a party," growled Porthos, allowing discretion to slide for a moment and stealing Athos back from Anne in order to engulf him in a protective hug. “Banned.”

Aramis quietly wondered to himself what his parents would make of this messy situation. As staunch Roman Catholics, they were strongly against divorce, but he suspected they'd forgive him anything after all he'd been through in the war. They would adore Anne, of that he was certain.

"What shall we do now?" he asked. The world would soon be their oyster. "Where shall we live? London, Paris, Madrid?"

"I like it here in Woodbridge," said Anne. "Everyone I love is here."

Aramis discovered to his surprise that he couldn't be happier with her suggestion. "Then here it is," he said emphatically. "I'd better find myself a job as a country doctor."


	33. Chapter 33

So began the real story of their lives together and it was everything that Porthos had longed for, a quiet existence with neither fuss nor glamour as he and Athos built up the estate from scratch, a partnership in every way. 

Trips to the city were few and far between. They managed the occasional shopping spree and even took in a show at the theatre once, afterwards spending a night at the Savoy. This, however, turned out to be a mistake, both of them acutely aware of too many eyes, which left them feeling fractious rather than romantic.

The manor house became their safe haven, just as Porthos had promised it would. Only their dearest friends were ever invited to visit, times which were filled with nostalgia over the dinner table, too much wine and lots of laughter. 

Inevitably, the year rolled to an end--the worst, but also the best of Porthos' life--and there were times he still struggled to believe that any of it was real. How one German shell could alter the path of a life in so many ways was difficult to comprehend, but it was the simple truth. 

After the traditional appearance of Lord Lafère and his trusty estate manager in church on Christmas morning, the remainder of the twelve days were mostly spent naked under the eiderdown in their bedroom, a roaring fire in the hearth. They even managed to wriggle out of an invitation to enjoy Christmas dinner with the newly married Lemays, although they were not so skillful at avoiding their New Year's Eve party.

A cold, damp winter brought with it the bleakest time in Porthos' life, when Athos, who'd been spending far too much time outside, succumbed to another bout of pneumonia, worse than ever before, and at one point was hanging onto life by the sheerest strand of thread.

"I have had Richelieu draft up a will," he gasped, hooking back the covers of the oxygen tent that had been constructed around the bed. "Everything will go to you."

Porthos, who had grown up with nothing, knew then that losing Athos would mean he'd once again be destitute, material possessions having no value to him whatsoever. His heart breaking, he crawled into bed with Athos, praying hard and fervently that his man would not be taken away from him. A week later, the crisis had passed and Porthos was left with a little more faith in God and a lot more determination to make sure Athos took all the rest he needed.

The first half of the year turned the Manor back into a nursing home, with Aramis, Constance and François always on hand if Porthos needed help with his solitary, sullen faced patient. Weakened by illness, Athos convalesced like a bad tempered old man and Porthos delighted in every grumble of irritation, lavishing attention on him and making sure he was well looked after.

During this period, he took it upon himself to employ a new maid to work in the house so that he could spend all of his spare time with Athos. Recommended by Jeanne, the girl was down to earth and full of cheek, her face always covered in ash smuts and her hair awry. She was called Felicity, though she went by the name of Flea, which suited her perfectly, and even Athos declared her ideal, especially when all three of them spent afternoons playing poker and she managed to win all the coppers in the pot.

"You're a cheat," insisted Porthos when, once again, he was penniless.

"It takes one to know one," said Flea with a wink. "Though I reckon I must be far better at it than you."

Athos laughed himself into a coughing fit at this and had to be treated to a steam bath afterwards.

"Serves you right," said Porthos when his lover finally emerged red faced from under the towel, although if pushed, he would be hard pressed to deny he found their new maid a bundle of laughs.

With Athos finally in good health, summer was a idyllic time. Its long spell of roasting hot was weather was a siren call to be lazy and they wasted entire days out riding, or playing like children in the river that bounded La Fère land. Roles were then reversed when Porthos took a tumble from his horse, breaking his ankle, and Athos had to push him around in a rickety old bath chair, much to his annoyance. Soon enough, however, they were both fit and back to revelling in country life with all its joys and exhaustions.

"Can you believe it's almost a year since you came home from prison?" said Porthos as he dug out their best suits from the back of the wardrobe.

Athos hung up the two shirts that had been freshly ironed by Flea and rummaged around for ties. "Time is a strange thing," he said. "It seems like only yesterday since I found you here, and yet I can't imagine having ever been without you."

"I know," said Porthos, throwing himself back on the bed. "Bloody marvellous, isn't it." Dressed only in his underwear, he rolled over and stretched out his arms, needing them to be filled with man.

Athos fell willingly into them and they lay together, breathing growing softer and more shallow until Porthos jerked himself awake. "Come on, you," he said, kissing Athos on the lips. "We need to get a move on."

"Do we have to go?" grumbled Athos. "I'm tired. We've been at that bloody farm for two weeks solid helping John with the harvest."

"And now he wants to thank us all for it," said Porthos. "Do you really want to hurt his feelings by not turning up?"

Athos leant on an elbow and pecked Porthos gently on the mouth. "You have a bad habit of making me a better man."

"You couldn't be any better," said Porthos, deepening the kiss and rolling Athos over until he was the one lying on his back. Sucking a trail of bruises downwards, he peeled back Athos' underwear and took him, semi-hard, into his mouth.

"Let me play too," insisted Athos, stripping them both until they were naked and then pulling Porthos onto him so they could suck each other off to their favourite kind of mutual pleasure.

Porthos laughed around him, loving the fact that Athos was growing ever more demanding in bed, and with slow precision they fucked each other's mouths to a perfect shared orgasm. 

"Now I really need to have that nap," said Athos as he slid sinuously into Porthos' arms.

"No, you don't," insisted Porthos. "What you really need to do is get a move on." Escaping those insistent clutches, he put on his underwear and shirt, leaning over to pinch Athos who was still lounging on the bed. "As it is, we'll have to take the car rather than the horses,” he said. “Which is bloody annoying because it means we’ll be showing up there like a couple of nobs rather than the hard workers we really are. We must get round to exchanging the Rolls for an Austin."

"I love my motor," said Athos as he began to get dressed. "Buy one for yourself. You must have the money saved up by now."

Porthos shook his head. "Two cars would be a waste seeing as we hardly ever use the one we've got."

Athos smirked. "I thought I employed you as my estate manager rather than the resident bossy boots."

"Comes with the territory," said Porthos, pushing Athos back onto the bed and peppering him with kisses. "Someone's got to keep a tight rein on you." The excited huff of breath gave Porthos ideas for later. He had a feeling that Athos might well be pushy, but would also enjoy nothing more than being thrust firmly into line. "My very own bad boy," he murmured, watching Athos' eyes darken with desire.

It was too much and he leapt up from the bed as if it were made of hot coals. "The things you do to me," he grumbled, fastening his trousers and slipping on the braces. "I've only just come and I already want more."

"I understand entirely," said Athos as he palmed his hardening cock. 

"Later," laughed Porthos, dragging him unwillingly from the bed. "Now get dressed, Lord Lazybones, or I'll have you over my knee."

"Promises, promises," said Athos, quirking an amused eyebrow at Porthos as he finally did as he was told.

In a quarter of an hour’s time they were all dolled up and ready to go, Porthos taking the steering wheel, more comfortable than Athos with driving at night.

"Remember this place?" he said, pulling the motor to a halt. It was the spot where they'd stopped after buying the horses.

"I remember you telling me off," smirked Athos.

"I did," grinned Porthos. "Afterwards." Having had the Manor and its grounds mostly to themselves for the past few months, they'd indulged in all manner of wicked outdoor pursuits since then, but Porthos would always remember that day. He’d felt so low and then so very high.

Accelerating up the long farm track, he parked the car next to the house and slung a comforting around Athos’ shoulders, perfectly aware of why his man had been procrastinating all evening. "It'll be fine," he said, pleased to feel some tension ease away at his words.

"I'm being stupid, I know, but-" The words petered out to a silence.

"You have every right to get anxious," said Porthos in a gentle voice. "But I promise you'll get used to it." So far, they'd been to weddings and birthdays, as well as seeing in the New Year, Athos coping fine once he'd been coaxed into attending. This was just another occasion to add to the list.

"Thank you," said Athos and he heaved in a sustaining breath. "Come on then. Let's go to yet another bloody do. What is it with these people and their neverending desire to throw parties?"

Harvest celebrations around here hadn't changed in centuries. The barn was lit by lanterns and the usual raggle taggle bunch of village folk were providing the music. Trestle tables lined the edges of the space, all of them laden with food and decorated with woven corn dollies. Barrels of cider were unstopped and flowing in a plentiful stream, alongside demijohns of mead and elderberry wine.

"I haven't been to one of these in years," said Athos, staring at the scene from the open doorway, and Porthos watched the years slip away from him as he took in the old fashioned festivities taking place in there.

"The last time I recall is when you were seventeen or so and I had to carry you home after too much cider," said Bertrand, slapping a hand on his back. "Don't do it again, young man."

"I can lug him home tonight, if needs be," chuckled Porthos. He loved the way they treated Athos as one of their own. Him as well nowadays.

Leaving the barn to the villagers, the two men made their way across the yard and into the tatty farmhouse kitchen. It was wonderful to be reunited with all their friends and Porthos stood quietly in the doorway drinking it in. Treville was showing Richelieu how to heat spiced cider with a poker. François' arm was resting proudly around Constance as she talked shop with Aramis, chattering away excitedly about the degree in medicine she was embarking upon. Anne was sitting in the fireside chair, a hand resting on the slight swell of her belly and a welcoming smile on her face as she noticed the new arrivals. 

"Do I dare ask why you two are so late?" said Treville, his face full of fun, more relaxed than Porthos had ever seen him.

"We're knackered after a fortnight spent bringing in your crops," said Porthos with a twinkle in his eye.

"Knackered after other activities perhaps, boys." Richelieu joined the conversation, passing them cups of warmed cider, a lascivious smile on his craggy face.

Treville may have harrumphed at Richelieu’s words but he was smirking nonetheless. "Thank you both for your tremendous help during the harvest," he said and he raised his glass to all in the room. "To the best friends a man could have."

There would be more thanks given later when they were celebrating with everyone in the barn, but for now it was private and heartfelt.

"See?" Porthos nudged Athos. "Parties can be good."

"Life is good and we'll make sure it stays that way," said Athos, that determined spirit coming to the fore.

"We will indeed," agreed Porthos, watching Richelieu and Treville out of the corner of his eye, pleased to see how content they were with each other: chatting, laughing, fingers brushing together occasionally. Hopefully one day life would not only be good, it would also be fair to everyone, no matter what colour they were, or who they happened to fall in love with.

With all but Anne enjoying a little too much of the strong cider, the group made their raucous, meandering way over to the barn with a determination to eat well, drink more and grow merrier still. Once the feast had been demolished, the trestles were then dismantled and it was time for the dancing to begin in earnest. No Fox Trots or that new craze of Charleston would be happening here tonight. These were simple country steps, old fashioned but good fun, and Porthos was glad that they were both fit enough to join in after the mishaps of the year.

"Shall we go?" murmured Athos, after an hour or so had passed. "I'm tired."

Once they’d done the rounds, several times over, in an attempt to say goodbye to everyone, Athos cranked the car into life then climbed in and yawned. "I really am shattered," he said. "It wasn't just an excuse to get away this time."

"Not even an excuse for us to go and have a sneaky fuck in one of Treville’s hayricks?" laughed Porthos. “I’m disappointed in you.”

"Not even that," smiled Athos, leaning against him and yawning twice more in quick succession.

Before they’d even made it as far as the open road, Porthos pulled the car over, leaving the engine running. "I can't go a moment longer without kissing you," he said. 

What followed was a soft swipe of tongues, a more emotional exchange than they'd been prone to recently. It was their own private thanksgiving which rekindled all the feelings from that first instinctive and rather shocking press of mouths.

"The others may have babies coming and be enjoying wedded bliss, but I have everything I could ever want right here," said Porthos, but then he frowned. "I only wish we didn't have to be so damn cagey around everyone. I didn't even get to dance with you tonight."

"We have done though," said Athos softly. "Remember? You could hardly walk, but you still wanted to dance with me."

"I'll never forget it," said Porthos, the slow jazz music from Dalton’s alive in his memory.

"You see?" said Athos. "We don't need that kind of freedom. The life we have together is perfect." He paused. "When I was in prison-"

"Don't, love," interrupted Porthos, not wanting to rake up any unhappiness from the past after such a wonderful evening together.

"No, no, it's fine," said Athos, reaching for his hand. "When I was in prison I realised I'd never change a single thing between us, despite what had happened, because I wouldn’t want to miss out on any moment I’d spent with you. Nothing could be more frightening to me than that time when you were so sick and I was convinced I was going to lose you. I tried to imagine how I would ever go on if the worst happened, but I couldn't do it, because without you I'm nothing."

After the dreadful winter months, Porthos understood only too well. Leaning in close, Athos kissed away the tears from Porthos’ cheeks, moving slowly across to his mouth, opening him up, licking into him, driving away every wayward thought until Porthos was an emotional mess, putty in Athos' hands.

"Stopping off for a chat and a kiss isn't supposed to turn me into this much of a wreck." Porthos could only laugh at the state he'd got himself into, as weak as a kitten and yet blissfully happy. "Can we change seats?" he said. "I can't see straight and you always drive better at night when you're a bit drunk." They swapped over, stopping midway for another kiss, and having completed the manoeuvre, Porthos smiled, utterly content with life. "Take me home, Athos," he said.

Having parked the Rolls in the newly built garage, they wandered up to the stables, their arms looped around each other, in order to say goodnight to the horses.

"I had plans for you, you know," said Porthos as they sat on the paddock railings, holding hands and looking up at the harvest moon which hung full and fat in a star mottled sky. "I was going to see if you wanted to play a little. Tie you up and tease you until you were begging me for a fuck."

"That sounds like fun," said Athos with a glint in his eyes. "But perhaps not right now."

“No.” Porthos shook his head. "Tonight, I need you to put me back together very slowly," he said and he leaned in sideways to nuzzle into the crook of Athos' neck. "Piece by piece." They were friends, lovers, equals. They were everything.

"Gladly," said Athos with a half smile and eyes that shone with languid pleasure at the promise of things to come. "Always."

 

\---end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing support. Every comment and thumbs up of encouragement meant the world. <3
> 
> Because of the way this rolled out I know there are a few bits of story left untold, so if anyone wants ficlets or snippets from any character's POV I'm more than happy to do so. Same goes for any of my fics, with the exception of for Vévé because I'm in process of writing a sequel to that. Prompts always welcome here on AO3 or at my [Tumblr](http://evilmaniclaugh.tumblr.com/).


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